


a dream is a soft place to land

by haiplana



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race (US) RPF
Genre: Bianca and Adore in the background, Bianca is director, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Language, Inspired by Waitress - Bareilles/Nelson, Internalized Homophobia, Katya is assistant director, Musicals, Past Abuse, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Drug Addiction, Slow Burn, Smut, Trixie is Jenna, Unplanned Pregnancy, you don't need to know the musical to enjoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:20:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 80,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27143035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haiplana/pseuds/haiplana
Summary: Waitress: The Broadway hit is opening in Los Angeles and is looking for an experienced actor and singer to play the lead.Trixie has to laugh, because she is Jenna Hunterson, save a few details. She’s from a small town; she has no money, a love for baking, a waitressing job at a diner, and a baby on the way. God, the Universe, someone up there is having a good old laugh. It’s too perfect.orTrixie Mattel is twenty and pregnant; she’s on her own in LA, struggling to make ends meet, when she sees a casting call for the musical Waitress. Katya Zamolodchikova is about to give up on the LA theater scene and head to Broadway when she takes a chance on the desperate but intriguing young girl who shows up to audition for Waitress.
Relationships: Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova
Comments: 64
Kudos: 122





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> and we're opening up!
> 
> you don't need to really know much of Waitress to enjoy this, but if you want a plot summary, Wikipedia works perfectly. I haven't seen the show in over two years, so I'm just going off of the songs, the script, and what little I remember of it.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Trixie has to laugh. She’s never believed in God, but from the way everything is lining up, she thinks someone up there has to be directing the shit-com of her life. It’s all so fucked up that she has to laugh, because there’s nothing else that she can do. A shitty job at an LA diner, an eviction notice mocking her from her purse, and the constant need to throw up — this wasn’t the plan, wasn’t the dream. She was supposed to make it big on Broadway, give compelling performances in avant-garde plays, or simply work in the MAC store at the mall until she could afford to record an album. Not this.

Her wallet is looking more cavernous each day, the blisters on her feet are getting blisters, and she’s been finding clumps of flour in odd places. Back home, she was known for her can-do attitude; Los Angeles is sucking that spirit right out of her.

Trixie manages to locate that last spark, however weak it is. On Tuesday she walks into work, grabs a newspaper off of the rack near the door, and goes to the back bathrooms. She dumps her too-large purse on the sink counter and goes into a stall, locks the door and presses her back to it. The nausea hasn’t started yet today, but she knows it’s coming soon — she managed to get a whole pancake down, and it’s more than she’s eaten for breakfast in a week, so she knows she’s about to pay for it.

The job ads keep her company as her stomach begins to roil. She’s not sure what she’s looking for. Something at night so she can supplement what little she’s making at the diner, she figures. Auto-repair, seamstress, hairdresser — she thinks she could do that, maybe, since she cut her sister’s hair a lot when she was younger. Trixie reads the requirements and turns the page when she sees _beauty school_.

“I wish,” she mutters, silently cursing her half-finished Musical Theater degree for the hundredth time that week.

Her chest burns with syrupy stomach acid, and she hunches over the toilet, eyes still on the newspaper. She heaves a few breaths, preparing herself for what’s to come, when her eyes land on something interesting. _Waitress_. She’s already doing that, but she figures she could work at another restaurant, too. Maybe one that pays better than the diner.

Just before she throws up, Trixie notices what’s written under it: _The Broadway hit is opening in Los Angeles and is looking for_ …

She almost misses the toilet. The newspaper falls to the ground, unstapled pages spilling over the bathroom floor. A strand of blonde hair falls into her face and she grabs it before another wave hits her. Her eyes keep darting back to the newspaper and she wills her body to stop, hopes to — well, not to God — that her body will quit rejecting her breakfast soon so she can finish reading the ad.

Trixie coughs and she knows she’s done. She wipes her mouth with a wad of toilet paper and flushes it down with the bile. Her knees hit the dirty floor a little too hard as she scrambles to pick up the sheets of newspaper. The ink stains her hands, they feel grimy from it, but she doesn’t care. She’s searching for the _Waitress_ ad.

“ _The Broadway hit is opening in Los Angeles and is looking for an experienced actor and singer to play the lead_ ,” she reads. Her heart beats faster, and she has to put the page down for a moment to stop her hands from shaking. It’s a long-shot, she knows, but she’s qualified.

Well, her experience is a supporting role in the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee production of _Wicked_ and understudy to the lead in _The Band’s Visit_ at the community theater. Not great parts, she’ll admit, but _Waitress_ is perfect for her — it’s in her range, the songs have a country-twang to them that fits her style, and—

Trixie has to laugh, because she _is_ Jenna Hunterson, save a few details. She’s from a small town. She has no money, a love for baking, a waitressing job at a diner, and a baby on the way. God, the Universe, _someone_ up there is having a good old laugh. It’s too perfect.

Trixie looks at the ad again. “Auditions happening— _fuck_.”

She scrambles out of the stall, nearly forgets her purse at the counter. She doesn’t even stop to brush her teeth, as she normally would, because she doesn’t have time. The door to the diner office is cracked open, thankfully, and she pushes in.

“Addie,” Trixie says, breathless. Her manager looks up from her calculations — she’s doing the books by hand — and she looks tired of Trixie’s antics already. Trixie is lucky Addie is so nice. “Addie, can I please use the computer?”

Addie narrows her dark eyes. “For what?”

“I need to make a resumé.”

“You trying to quit already?” Addie sounds amused, like it’s a game, but Trixie doesn’t have time for it.

“Please. I’ll explain later, I just need it right now.” Tears spring to Trixie’s eyes, but she swallows them back. She doesn’t have time for hormones, either.

Addie seems to see them, and she looks at Trixie’s stomach for a moment before softening. She knows about her _situation_.

“Fine. Hurry up.” Addie stands from her desk chair and lets Trixie maneuver around her to sit down.

“Thank you so much. I’ll make it up to you.”

Addie hums. “Let me know if you need help. The printer’s in the corner.”

Before Trixie can thank her again, she goes into the diner and closes the door behind her. Trixie takes a deep breath and opens a Google document on Addie’s account. She picks a nice font, writes her name in black but adds a footnote with her contact information in a pretty shade of pink text. She fills out her high school information, awards, accolades, extracurriculars. She looks great on paper — until she gets to college.

She can’t exactly write _college dropout_ on her resumé, but she can’t lie and say that she graduated, either. Trixie’s only twenty, and she had just barely finished her sophomore year when her stepdad found the positive pregnancy test in her garbage and promptly kicked her out of the house. There’s no way she can pretend that she graduated two years early; she doesn’t even see the point in trying. If she’s talented enough, she’ll get the part without her Musical Theater B.F.A.

Trixie finishes up the resumé after adding a few designs at the corners for some flare. She clicks the printer icon and hopes it doesn’t look too juvenile. She prints a few copies and takes the stack with her when she leaves the office. Addie is waiting for her at the entrance to the kitchen.

“Let me see.” She takes one from the top of the stack and reads it while Trixie places the rest carefully in her purse. “Looks nice. I’d hire you.” She looks up at Trixie, tries to hide the smile from her face. “Oh wait, I already have.”

Trixie rolls her eyes and takes the copy back, tucking it with the rest of them. “Thanks.”

“Are you gonna tell me what they’re for?”

Trixie goes into the kitchen and puts her purse on the rack with the other personal items. She can already smell food cooking, the chef at work even before the customers have started filtering in. It makes her stomach roil.

“No,” Trixie says, turning to Addie.

Addie crosses her arms over her chest. “Come on.”

“No!”

Trixie goes to her station, washes her hands in the sink, and starts pulling ingredients together. She’s decided to make a red velvet cake today, and some chocolate cupcakes, which means that she really only has to make one batter. Addie follows her there and stands over her. It makes Trixie’s spine tingle.

“Why won’t you tell me?” Addie asks.

Trixie rolls a shoulder. “I don’t want to jinx it.” She begins sifting flour, but when Addie doesn’t move, she stops and looks at her. “I promise I’ll tell you soon. Tomorrow.”

Addie narrows her eyes, but she relents. “All right, kid. Just don’t get murdered or some shit. I don’t feel like hiring anyone else.”

“Aw,” Trixie says, reaching for the sugar, “you like me. You really like me.”

“Whatever.” Addie walks away, leaving Trixie to her baking.

She’s not really supposed to be on her phone at work, but she doesn’t care. She pulls her phone out of her skirt pocket and unravels the headphones from around it. She sticks one in her ear, clicks through the screen and into Spotify, then searches for the _Waitress_ soundtrack. A pit in her stomach forms when she clicks on the first song. Determined to chase it away, she shakes out her limbs and starts humming. She goes back to her baking and sings “What’s Inside” under her breath.

* * *

Katya is getting too old for this. She’s nearing thirty, and it’s starting to feel like the prime of her life is slipping away. That’s what she’s thinking right now, but that particular train of thought gets derailed when the girl in front of her screeches out what’s supposed to be a high note. The girl keeps on singing, cheeks a little red, and Katya zones out again. She’s really getting too old for this.

Beside her, Bianca Del Rio checks the time on her watch. _Relatable content_ , Katya thinks. This is the last girl, and Katya has been counting down the seconds until they can finish this audition and get on with it. She hasn’t been impressed by anyone, but what was she expecting — it’s Hollywood, not Broadway. No one comes here to do musicals; the real talent is in every diner, deli, and department store in New York.

It’s where Katya should be, according to Bianca. _You’re wasting away here_ , Bianca said just the other day. _I don’t need an assistant director, get your ass to New York and run your own show_. The girl in front of them stumbles over a few notes. Yeah, maybe she’ll listen the next time Bianca tells her to leave.

“All right,” Bianca shouts over the piano and the screeching, “we’ve heard enough. Thank you.”

The girl stops, and the libretto falls from her hand. She looks like she’s about to cry. It makes Katya sick. Her foot is bouncing, and she doesn’t even realize that she’s tapping on the table until Bianca shoots her a deathly glare. The girl lets a tear fall before she storms out of the room.

Katya releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Thank fuck.”

“Go smoke. You look like you’re two days in withdrawal,” Bianca says. Katya flashes a quick smile of thanks and darts out of the rickety theater chair.

The exit is just past the stage, the green sign overhead like the light of heaven to Katya. She pushes open the door and immediately takes the pack out of her pocket, pulls a cigarette out, and has it between her lips in record time. The lighter clicks out a flame and burns the paper at the end of the cigarette. She takes a deep, filling breath. Somehow, it’s sweeter than fresh air.

She twirls the little red lighter in one hand, takes another drag with her other hand at her lips. Los Angeles is practically steaming with mid-summer heat, and the vehicles seem to swim over the pavement as they pass in front of the theater. Katya watches from the alley, sees sports cars drive alongside beaten-up trucks, bikers swerve through the traffic. She pretends, for a moment, that this is New York, where the traffic is ten times worse and the tall buildings shade the street from the sun.

She can’t decide if she likes that image yet, but it doesn’t matter because suddenly she’s back in LA, back in the alley between the theater and a Vietnamese restaurant, staring across the street at the absolute angel her eyes have settled on. She’s blonde and tall, and Katya can’t really tell from this far, but she seems to have the most perfect curves. Her hair is thick, almost like it’s teased at the top, and it cascades in tresses over a pink 50s-style waitress outfit.

The woman stops and turns to a man waiting on the corner. She speaks with him for a second — Katya isn’s sure why she’s still watching — and then the man points across the street. In fact, he’s pointing in Katya’s direction, and her heart pounds because she realizes that he’s showing her the theater, and then she’s crossing the street and determinedly making her way towards the door.

Katya darts inside, hauls ass until she makes it to the director’s table. She almost flips it, and Bianca reaches for her Irish coffee frantically.

“What the _hell_ — put that damn thing out,” Bianca says.

Katya takes long breaths, trying to calm down. She looks at Bianca, head tilted to the side, and then she realizes she’s still holding a half-smoked cigarette. “Oh, sorry.” She drops it into her cup of water and hears a sizzle.

Bianca winces. “The fuck is going on?”

Katya doesn’t answer. She’s too busy trying to look like she’s been sitting there, casually, working with Bianca instead of standing outside and staring at the complete _vision_ that she knows is about to walk through those doors. _Three, two_ …

The doors at the back of the theater click open, and the sounds of the street carry into the theater and echo around the space. Bianca stares at Katya like she summoned this person, and Katya just shrugs.

“Hello?”

The voice matches the image, Katya thinks. It’s sweet and bold all at once. Katya _loves_ it. The source, the new arrival, the _girl_ walks down into the theater. She smiles at them and starts descending the stairs, almost taking them two at a time. She’s halfway to them, in the very front row, when Bianca holds a hand up. The girl stops.

“Auditions ended ten minutes ago.”

The girl’s face falls for a moment, but she barely stutters. “I got here as quickly as I could, I only got off work at three-forty and—”

“Let me stop you right there,” Bianca says. “The thirty girls that came in here before you have day-jobs, too, and they made it on time.”

Katya clears her throat gently. “B.”

Bianca barely spares a glance towards Katya.

“I have resumés, please, just look at them.” The girl opens the large, pink bag on her shoulder and gingerly takes a stack of paper out. Katya stands and practically climbs over the back of the seat to take them. “Thank you,” she says quietly.

Katya flashes her a big smile and returns to her seat. She takes one for herself, then hands the stack to Bianca. Katya reads each word, trying to piece together every bit of this girl. _Trixie Mattel, Davis County High School class of 2018, studied at University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee._

“You’re young. How old are you?” Bianca asks.

“Twenty. I studied Musical Theater at school.”

Bianca nods. “And you didn’t graduate.”

Katya’s heart stops, her head dizzy with the shock to her system. She’s embarrassed, almost mortified, for Trixie, and she’s afraid to look up.

“No,” Trixie says, and she doesn’t sound the least bit embarrassed. Katya’s head flies up and she studies Trixie. Her only tell is the way she shifts her weight on her feet uncomfortably. _Girl’s got guts_.

“We’re looking for someone with experience.” Bianca sighs. “You don’t exactly fit the bill, if you know what I mean.”

Katya nudges her with the paper. “She understudied Dina in _The Band’s Visit_. That’s a hard part.”

Katya’s never seen the particular glare that Bianca’s giving her right now.

“Please,” Trixie says. Katya hears the thickness in the back of her throat, and she usually hates when these girls get emotional, but this is breaking her heart. “I need a job. I need _this_ job.”

Strangely, Bianca looks at Katya as though it’s her call. Maybe it’s because Bianca’s encouraging her to become a real director, or maybe it’s because Bianca’s not very good with emotions. Katya doesn’t care; she’s going to fight for this girl.

“Let her try, B.” Katya shrugs, smirks at Trixie. “I mean, she’s dressed for the part.”

Trixie nods. “I promise, you can stop me as soon as you want, just give me a chance.”

Bianca looks back and forth between Katya and Trixie, then drops her head into her hand. “Fine. Get your ass on that stage.” Trixie practically bounces down the stairs, but Bianca's hand flies out to stop her as she passes the table. “Take the libretto.”

“Right.” Trixie takes the little book and continues on to the stage. Once there, she plants her feet, raises her chin, and takes a deep breath. “Uh, my name is Trixie Mattel, I’m twenty, I’m from outside of Milwaukee, Wisconsin.”

“This isn’t a college production, kid. You don’t have to do all that,” Bianca says. “Just go to page fifty, right before ‘Bad Idea’. Katya’s going to read the part of Dr. Pomatter. He’s just told you that you’re okay after making you come into his office early about concerns.”

Trixie nods and clears her throat. Katya does, too, her hands suddenly shaking. She looks down at her own libretto, page open to the right spot, but she doesn’t start. Bianca stares at her and nudges her knee under the table.

“Light spotting is a normal symptom of early pregnancy— _oh shit_ ,” Katya recites. It’s the moment that Pomatter is supposed to be chowing down on a piece of Jenna’s pie, but it just sounds stupid when she says it.

“Well, then, is that everything you have to say?” Trixie says. Her voice is soft, but she projects well.

“Um, no?”

“Well, what?” Trixie looks at Katya, her eyes wide and waiting for that little spark of hope to be fanned into flame. It’s perfect.

Katya gets stuck on the line, and thankfully the character does, too. “Look, I… uh, nothing. You can go now, I will see you at your next regularly scheduled appointment. Don’t hesitate to call if you have any questions—”

“Questions or concerns.” Trixie is seething.

“Any and all, yes.”

Trixie’s jaw tightens, her chest heaves — God, Katya wants to see _that_ again. “Why did you have me come all the way down here if spotting is a perfectly normal symptom in early pregnancy? I had to get up early, walk five blocks, take a bus, just to hear that spotting is a perfectly _normal_ symptom?” She sounds exhausted, and Katya can see it in her eyes and the way her shoulders sink in her diner uniform.

“I have no response to that,” Katya says.

“And what time does this office open, Doctor? Eight-thirty…” She motions at Katya.

“Nine o’clock.”

“ _Nine_ o’clock?” Trixie’s voice is low. “So you came here two hours early just to tell me that spotting is a perfectly normal symptom?” Katya hears the undulation, the anger that’s being held back by the barest thread, the raging hormones and bumbling doctor driving her crazy. It’s so _real_.

“Okay, it seems that way…” Katya pauses, and she expects Trixie to go on, but it’s like Trixie already hears the audience laughing.

She waits for the right moment to start. “Goodbye, Doctor.”

“Goodbye, Jenna—”

“You know what?” Trixie says. “I think you’re strange. I’m not sure I want you to be my doctor anymore. You make me uncomfortable.”

Bianca interrupts before Katya can answer. “I think that’s good, thanks. Ready to sing?”

“Yeah.” Trixie seems a little thrown off by the sudden switch, but if she wants this job, she’s going to have to get used to Bianca’s pace.

“I sent the pianist home,” Bianca says, a little apologetic.

Katya jumps up. “I can play.”

“Don’t worry,” Trixie says. She starts walking to the piano that’s poised on the stage. “I can do it a cappella.”

Katya looks at Bianca, eyes wide, and Bianca shrugs. Trixie studies the keys, finds the right one, and plays a little scale before holding a three-pitch chord. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.

“ _It’s not simple to say, that most days I don’t recognize me_.” Trixie turns away from the piano and back to Bianca and Katya, opening her eyes. “ _That these shoes, and this apron, this place and it’s patrons have taken more than I gave them_.”

She continues on like that, without music, just her voice echoing through the theater. They might not even have to mic her, Katya thinks, because she’s just that _good_. She’s not polished, but it’s in a way that makes the song more authentic. It’s a little bit country, a little bit Broadway, and there’s a lot of emotion. Katya’s not sure where this girl, practically a kid, can gather it from.

If this is what she can do in an audition, Katya can’t wait to see what she’ll do after a month of rehearsals.

“ _She is gone, but she used to be mine_.” Trixie ends the song, holding that harrowing, quiet note. Her hand is on her lower stomach just as Jenna’s would be in the show. Katya has to stop herself from jumping up and giving her an ovation.

Bianca never betrays what she’s thinking, but Katya knows her, and she can feel the excited energy radiating from her. They’ve got their star.

“Thanks. We’ll let you know if you’ve got the part,” Bianca says.

Trixie looks a little defeated, and though she tries not to show it, Katya can see the way that she huffs and grinds her teeth. “Thank you for the opportunity.” She picks up her bag, gets off the stage, and starts trudging to the back of the theater without another look their way.

Katya’s heart rate jumps. She’s worried that if Trixie walks out those doors, she won’t ever see her again, and for some reason she can’t stomach that. Bianca is packing up like they didn’t just witness a prodigy on their stage.

“We’re gonna hire her, right?” Katya asks. She grabs Bianca’s arm. “Right?”

Bianca shakes her off. “Jesus, what’s gotten into you? Yeah, we’re hiring her.”

“Then why didn’t you tell her?”

“Her phone number is on her resumé, I can contact her later tonight.”

“We shouldn’t make her wait, it’s not fair.” Katya jumps up from her seat, not waiting to hear Bianca’s snarky response. She bounds up the stairs and to the back of the theater. The doors have just closed, so she thinks Trixie can’t be far. She’s right, thankfully, and she spots Trixie’s blonde hair a few people in front of her. “Excuse me,” she mutters, pushing past them.

She reaches Trixie and grabs her shoulder. Trixie whips around and pushes her immediately, and Katya subsequently falls into a potted plant outside of a bodega.

Trixie’s eyes are wide. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it was you!”

“That’s okay.” Katya peels herself from the plant. “I probably shouldn’t have grabbed you from behind, it’s my fault.”

Trixie reaches out, and Katya’s heart stops, but then Trixie just brushes some leaves from Katya’s shoulder. What she thought was going to happen, she doesn’t know.

“I didn’t really introduce myself. I’m Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova, but Katya’s easier to say, so you can call me Katya.”

Trixie laughs, and Katya realizes that she sounds like an idiot. “It’s nice to meet you, Katya.” Katya’s head bobs with a few nods. “Uh, is there something you needed?”

Katya realizes that she’s been staring at Trixie, probably for too long, like a fucking straight guy in a rom-com. “Yep, yeah, actually. You got the part.”

Trixie’s jaw drops, literally, and now she’s the one staring at Katya. “You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“You’re fucking kidding!”

“As I said, no, I am not kidding.” Katya laughs at her own little joke. Trixie is too amped up to notice.

“Oh my God,” Trixie says. She throws her arms around Katya, and there goes Katya’s heart again. “Thank you, thank you so much. You don’t know how much this means to me.” She pulls away much too soon for Katya’s liking. “You don’t know how much I needed this.”

“I’m really glad you auditioned. You were amazing,” Katya says.

Trixie looks down the sidewalk to hide a blush. “I wasn’t, I know I’m a little out of practice.”

“And you were still that good.” Katya smiles. “I saw a lot of girls perform today, and no one could keep my attention for longer than a minute, besides you.” She looks at her feet for a moment, brushes a hand through her bangs. She feels like a teenager. “Would you like to go to dinner?”

“Uh.” Trixie sounds like she’s choked on air. “Now?”

“Yeah, I can tell you about the job and the rehearsals.” She can tell Trixie about that stuff, but talking about work is the last thing on her agenda.

“I’d love to,” Trixie says. She shifts her weight, scratches the back of her neck. She’s embarrassed. “But, I don’t really have the money right now.”

Katya could kick herself. She scrambles for words. “No worries, it’s on me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“You can. You should.”

Trixie bites her lip, looks Katya up and down. “Okay. Thanks.”

* * *

Katya takes her to a nice little burger place a few blocks from the theater. Trixie’s feet are killing her, but she doesn’t mind the walk. Katya is an interesting conversationalist — she’s cynical, morbid, hysterical. Trixie didn’t even notice when she had picked all that up from the short interaction she’s had with Katya. It also doesn’t hurt that Katya is gorgeous, with her platinum-blonde waves and blunt bangs, angular face and full, red-painted lips. Trixie likes looking at her, if only to study what this type of pure beauty looks like.

They’re seated in a booth, menus dropped on the table in front of them. Katya scans hers for a moment before looking at Trixie, seemingly decided on what she’s going to get.

“Have any suggestions?” Trixie asks. The menu is pretty similar to what they serve at the diner, but based on the decor and general cleanliness, the food is definitely going to be better.

Katya leans over the table and points to a few things. “The bacon jam burger is great, but I’m really into Greek food so I like that burger, too. They also have a good reuben, their Russian dressing is to die for— I would know, it’s the dressing of my people.”

Trixie giggles, and it dawns on her just how embarrassing her laugh is. Katya seems to enjoy hearing it, though, as her smile grows.

“I’ll have to try that, then. I can’t say I’ve ever had Russian dressing,” Trixie says. Katya’s jaw drops. “I’m from the Midwest, we do a lot of dairy and beef, wholesome American stuff.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Katya watches her, Trixie can tell, as she continues to scan the menu. She looks at the drinks, tries to find something sweet and non-alcoholic. “The fries here are great, too, mama. Once—”

Trixie’s head snaps up. “What?” Her heart is pounding so fast that Trixie thinks she could have just triggered a heart attack. There’s no way Katya knows, right? She’s not even showing yet, she didn’t say anything at the audition. Katya can’t know she’s pregnant.

“Huh?”

“You said ‘mama’.” Trixie just barely keeps it together to get those words out.

Katya shrugs. “Oh, yeah, I just kind of say that. It’s weird. I call everyone mama, or Mary, Barbara, Maria, Stacey, Brenda…”

Trixie’s body starts functioning normally again, she can breathe, and she manages a smile. She _can’t_ tell her brand new employers that she’s pregnant. There’s no way they’d let her do the show, and then she’d be without a second job and out on the street in no time.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have to call you anything but Trixie if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s funny,” Trixie says, actually laughing. “I’ve just never heard that.”

Katya nods and smiles. Her teeth are perfect, straight and white — LA white, which is a feat. “You could say I’m pretty unique.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Trixie smiles down at the menu to hide the heat rising to her cheeks. She really likes the way Katya talks to her so assuredly, like she’s the font of knowledge and she’s giving Trixie glimpses into her brilliance.

“So,” Katya starts, and Trixie looks up, “how did you—”

She’s cut off by the waitress walking up to their table. Trixie always hates when she does that to people at the diner, and she doesn’t like being on this end of it, either.

“What can I get you two?” the waitress asks. She pulls out her notepad.

Katya picks her menu up and glances at it. “Could I get the Greek burger with extra feta and a side of fries, please?”

Trixie lets out a small breath — she was really hoping Katya wasn’t one of those assholes who barks their order at the waitress. Katya smiles like the waitress might actually say no and she has to be extra sweet. Trixie has a momentary thought of _how cute_ before moving on.

“And, uh,” she starts, “I’ll have the reuben, please.”

“Fries?”

“Yes, please.”

The waitress dots the end of her sentence. “What about drinks?”

Katya looks at Trixie expectantly, and Trixie bites her lip as she looks at the drink part of the menu again. “They have some really good cocktails.”

“I’m twenty,” Trixie says like it’s the real reason she’s not having alcohol. Katya shakes her head at herself.

“Right, sorry.”

Trixie clears her throat. “Uh, I’ll just have an iced tea, please.”

“Water for me,” Katya says when the waitress turns to her.

The waitress leaves with a, “I’ll be right back with your drinks,” and then Trixie and Katya are alone again.

Trixie isn’t sure if Katya is going to start talking, resume what she was saying before they were interrupted. When she doesn’t, Trixie decides to talk.

“You don’t have to have water just because I’m underage.”

Katya shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. It’s not because of that.” Trixie tilts her head, a question on the tip of her tongue, so Katya continues. “I’m sober.”

“Oh,” Trixie says. “Is it a religious thing, or…”

Katya laughs, and it’s a light giggle at first but turns to wheezes that shake through her body. Trixie loves it. “No, sober means I’m in recovery. I’m an alcoholic, and a drug addict.”

Trixie purses her lips. Katya looks pretty normal, nothing like the drug addicts that used to hang around her town or stand on street corners in Milwaukee. She definitely doesn’t look or act like her stepdad, either. Sure, she’s skinny and has gaunt cheeks, and tons of tattoos on her arms, but she probably just has great genes, and tattoos don’t really mean _rebel_ anymore. She doesn’t know what to say, exactly.

“My stepdad’s an alcoholic.” _Idiot_. Trixie’s an idiot. That is _not_ what you say to an alcoholic.

“Good to know.” Katya drags her finger across the tabletop. “You don’t have to worry about me— I’ve been sober for a while and I don’t really feel like getting back on that particular wagon. Speaking of, I meant to ask. What brought you to Los Angeles?”

Again, Trixie’s uncomfortable — either she says something stupid and makes things awkward, or Katya asks her a normal question that she awkwardly doesn’t know how to answer. Her hands start to sweat. Katya looks genuinely interested, her body leaning over the table like she’s trying to get closer to Trixie. If Katya told her a bit of her dark past, Trixie thinks it’s only fair that she does the same.

“My, uh, stepdad kicked me out of the house a little over a month ago, actually.” She looks down so she doesn’t have to see the pity on Katya’s face. “My mom couldn’t bring herself to tell me, but it’s what she wanted, too.”

“I’m so sorry,” Katya says. She reaches her hand over the tabletop, and Trixie stares at it, doesn’t know what to do with that, but before she can decide Katya takes it back. When Trixie looks at her face, she sees pink. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Trixie shakes her head. “That’s okay. We never really got along, my stepdad was very judgmental and he and my mom wanted me to be something that I’m not. Then I made a pretty bad decision, and that was it.” Trixie pauses as the waitress brings their drinks. She undoes the wrapper of her biodegradable straw and sticks it in her iced tea, twirls it absently. Katya waits for her to continue. “Thankfully, a lot of my stuff was still packed from college so I could just pick up and leave.”

“And you drove all the way here?”

“Yep. It took me about three and a half days.” Trixie shrugs.

“I’m very impressed,” Katya says. She looks at Trixie as though she’s seeing her for the first time, and it makes Trixie’s stomach tingle. Probably just the baby, though.

“What about you?” Trixie takes a sip of her iced tea, and it’s a little bitter, but she likes it. “Are you from LA?”

Katya scoffs. “God, no.”

“You don’t like it?” Trixie asks.

“I’m not really a fan.”

“Why are you here, then?”

Katya laughs and looks around the restaurant, turns back to Trixie. “That is a very good question, Trixie.” Trixie smiles under the weight of Katya’s gaze. “I’m from Boston. I followed my partner here, we broke up about a year after we moved. I already had a network of sorts, I was working for Bianca on one of her other shows, so I just… stayed.”

“Bianca is the director, right?” Trixie asks, and she hates how stupid it sounds. She was so busy pathetically begging to audition that she didn’t even ask who she was going to work for.

“Yeah, Bianca Del Rio. She’s a fantastic director, a big deal around here,” Katya says, smiling, “and she’s my mentor. She’s a pain in the ass, Mary, but I love her to death.”

Trixie almost laughs with surprise. “She is a little…” She doesn’t want to offend Katya, or talk bad about her employer to her _other_ employer. “Abrasive?”

“That’s a really nice way to put it, yeah.” Katya laughs, wheezing gently. It makes Trixie giggle.

The door to the kitchen swings open across the restaurant, and Trixie turns her head to see their waitress bringing their food. She sets Trixie’s down first, then Katya’s, and walks away. Katya barely takes a moment to breathe before she pulls the little toothpick from the top of her burger and takes a big bite. Trixie snacks on a fry to try to ease herself into the meal — she’s starving from throwing up her breakfast every day, but eating dinner quickly just makes the heartburn and morning sickness worse.

“Anyway,” Katya says after barely swallowing her food, “I should probably tell you about the job and the rest of the cast.”

Trixie picks up the first half of her reuben. “You hired everyone else already?”

“We wanted to get the other roles filled first so we could focus on casting Jenna.” Katya takes a big sip of water, but Trixie sees a smile in her eyes as she watches her. Trixie takes a bite of the reuben, and Katya wasn’t lying, because it’s amazing. “So, we’ve got Asia O’Hara as Becky, she’s a powerhouse, and Adore Delano as Dawn. Adore’s a few years older than you, and she only has one professional credit, but she’s good. Don’t repeat this, but she’s fucking Bianca on the low-low.”

Trixie chokes on the sip of iced tea she was in the process of taking. Her abs contract, and it’s all she can do to keep it from coming up her nose. She looks up at Katya, and for the barest moment she sees hesitation. She’s waiting to see what Trixie will do.

Trixie laughs. “How old is Bianca? Like, forty?”

“She’s thirty-five,” Katya says, her face relaxing into a real smile, “but I won’t tell her you said that.”

“It’s the caftan.”

Katya wheezes out a laugh, this time bigger, and she taps the seat of the booth a few times. “I told her those make her look old, but she doesn’t like to listen to me.”

So, her director is gay, or queer — something — and so is her costar. That makes Trixie’s chest burst with excitement, but she washes it down quickly with some tea. For a second, she wonders if Katya might be—

No, nope. She’s ending that question right there, because it’s pointless. Trixie isn’t gay — wasn’t gay, might definitely be gay, and it doesn’t matter if she wants to finally admit it because she’s having a fucking baby and there’s no time to grapple with that years-long struggle. She’s facing an eighteen-year uphill battle already.

“Anyway.” Katya’s voice brings her out of her head. She remembers to keep eating while Katya talks. “We’ve got this really cool guy, Kameron Michaels, playing Dr. Pomatter. Bob Draquen is your husband, Earl, Kennedy Davenport is Cal, and this kid Ben Dela is playing Ogie.”

“I’m excited to meet them,” Trixie says.

Katya nods. “Oh! I almost forgot. RuPaul Charles is playing Joe.” She’s nearly bouncing in her seat — God, the energy this woman has — and Trixie thinks she should know who that is.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know…”

“He’s a local favorite. Made it to Broadway a few times in stuff you haven’t heard of, probably before you were born.” Katya shrugs. “It’s still a big deal, though.”

“Sounds great,” Trixie says. She’s hiding it, but her excitement levels are through the roof. It feels like everything is going to turn around.

They finish dinner, sporadically stopping for conversations on the food, the other patrons, the LA weather. Katya doesn’t like the heat, and neither does Trixie — they’re both used to snowy winters and changing of the seasons. Trixie tells Katya about her guitars, the one that she still has and the other that she sold when she got to the city. She talks about her grandfather, the mastermind between her musical training.

“I thought you had a country voice,” Katya says, lips quirking with a smile. She has tzatziki on the corner of her lip, and Trixie wants to wipe it away for her, if only to feel those smiling red lips. “Sorry, is that weird to say?”

“Not at all. Country was the backbone of my life for a long time.” Trixie wipes her hands on the napkin in her lap, feeling satisfied with the meal and with her company.

Katya bites her lip. “That’s what makes you perfect for the part, I think. It’s authentic.”

 _She doesn’t know the half of it_ , Trixie thinks.

They leave the restaurant at dusk, and it’s late, but Trixie doesn’t want it to end. She has to call Addie, though, to let her know that she’s switching to night shifts, and even if rehearsal starts late in the day she’ll be up early with morning sickness. She tries to part ways with Katya, but the woman insists on walking her home, won’t take no for an answer. Trixie doesn’t mind.

By now, they’re pretty far from Trixie’s apartment. Katya suggests they take the bus, pays Trixie’s fare for her, and they settle into the very back seats. The bus isn’t busy, really, but they still sit right next to each other — Trixie at the window, Katya pressed right up against her. Katya’s knee brushes her own, and a normal person would jerk away or subtly shift, but Trixie just presses into it. She’s starving for human contact.

“I don’t care what anyone says, _Hamilton_ isn’t that great live,” Katya says. “The lyrics and the musicality are amazing, but Mary, there’s no dialogue! Nothing in between! You don’t even need to see the show to get the whole picture.”

Trixie laughs. “Yeah, I get what you’re saying, although it’s still in my top five. _Wicked_ is up there, too, and this is probably cheesy, but _Waitress_ might be top three for me.”

“Have you ever seen it?”

“Only bootleg versions online,” Trixie says. “There was a period of two months in high school where I listened to the soundtrack daily.”

“Really?” Katya’s eyes are as wide as her smile.

Trixie clears her throat, and thankfully a clump of hair falls into her face, because she’s blushing. “Yeah, I felt a lot of parallels between my life and Jenna’s.” Katya’s brow furrows like she’s confused, so she takes another breath and elaborates. “I mean, I’m from a small town, we didn’t have a lot of money growing up, my stepdad was so overbearing, and—” _I’m having a baby I don’t even want_. “—I love to bake.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

Katya’s looking at her like she’s a painting, a national treasure, or the most interesting person she’s ever seen.

“It’s like fate,” Katya says, “that you ended up here, found us. You’re probably going to be the most authentic Jenna there’s ever been.”

Trixie smiles into her lap and wraps her arm around her stomach. She can feel a lot of things coming — a lot of good things, a lot of weird things, a lot of scary things. For the first time in her life, she feels like she’s ready for most of it.

* * *

Rehearsals start the next day at eleven in the morning. Trixie has been up for hours already, trying to get her morning sickness over with so she doesn’t have to leave in the middle of rehearsal. When she walks through the theater doors, she has a giant Gatorade in her purse and a pack of mints — to keep her electrolytes up and her breath fresh. She’s not sure what to expect, but she’s ready for anything.

The theater is so much different today, it’s full of life and isn’t stifling with anxiety and broken dreams. Theater techs run around checking mics, working on lighting, fixing backdrops; the band is practicing on the stage; and there are actors doing vocal warmups in the front row. Everyone seems genuinely happy to be there — everyone except Bianca, of course.

“Put that down!” Bianca yells. She’s near the back of the theater, but she’s shouting orders at a tech carrying a wooden set piece across the stage. “You’re going to break the damn thing, just _put it down_.”

Trixie’s almost afraid to pass Bianca, but she carefully descends the stairs and goes towards the front. She looks around at the mostly-empty seats, and she sees some purses and hats, a few people who she assumes are actors — but no Katya.

“I need these lights figured out _now_.” Bianca’s voice is so shrill it makes Trixie jump. “Adore, get off of the speaker or I’ll push your ass off of it myself.”

Trixie looks at the girl in question: a tall, brunette girl in a Budweiser leotard and cutoff jean shorts. She’s sitting on top of a large speaker at the corner of the stage, one leg crossed over the other.

“I would like to see it,” Adore says, face scrunching up with a snicker.

Bianca puts her hands on her hips. “Don’t test me, kid!”

Trixie laughs, and she stops watching the action to put her stuff on a chair. She takes her Gatorade out of her bag and takes a long sip of the blue liquid. It was a bad morning, and she’s worried she’s going to pass out once she gets under the stage lights.

“Hey,” Adore calls, still on the speaker, “who’s the new girl?”

Trixie looks up, aware that _she’s_ the new girl, and when she does she finally sees Katya. She’s standing on stage talking to a group of techs, but at the sound of Adore’s voice, she whips around. Her eyes land on Trixie immediately, and she takes a step forward. In a second, she’s nearly tumbling to the stage floor, her foot caught in a wire, but she manages to keep her balance. Adore screams with laughter.

“Trixie!” Katya collects herself and jumps over the edge of the stage. She’s next to Trixie in two strides. “Hi. How’d you sleep?”

Trixie’s aware of the quiet that’s fallen over the theater, and she’s not sure if she’s imagining it or if everyone is suddenly interested in her presence. “A little rough, but I’m okay. What about you? How was the rest of your night?”

“Quiet. I spent an hour getting the librettos and the arrangements together, then I passed out on the sofa.”

Trixie laughs and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, looking down. She admires Katya’s outfit — a mini-dress with different pictures of Mao Zedong printed all over it. Her hair is in a ponytail at the top of her head, and she has a red scrunchie around it. It’s… a choice, and Katya is somehow pulling it off.

She opens her mouth to make a comment about it, but Adore shows up behind Katya, peering over her shoulder.

“Hey, New Girl,” she says, and Katya jumps, turns around. It’s the first time since she came over that she’s stopped looking at Trixie.

“Adore, this is Trixie Mattel, our Jenna.” Katya steps back so Adore isn’t literally hanging on her shoulder. “Trixie, this is Adore. She’s a Libra.”

“That’s my line!”

Trixie holds her hand out. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Adore says, shaking Trixie’s hand. “Do you know your sign?”

“Uh, I think I’m a Leo.” Trixie really doesn’t know, she vaguely remembers her sister signing her up for Co-Star, which she promptly deleted a week later.

“When’s your birthday?” Adore asks.

“August twenty-third.”

“You’re a Virgo,” Katya says. “First day of the season, too.”

Adore smiles at Trixie and bounds off, and Trixie just stares at Katya’s smile. She doesn’t know what else to do.

“I’m a Taurus, but I have a Scorpio moon, so I think that’s where I get my weird from,” Katya continues. She touches Trixie’s arm and nudges her in the direction Adore went. “Come on, let me introduce you to the rest of the cast.”

At this point, they’ve all congregated in the first row on the very right side of the theater. Adore has gathered the stragglers, and they’re all waiting to meet Trixie. Her stomach turns a bit, and she’s not sure if it’s her hormones, more morning sickness, or general anxiety about meeting new people. There’s a lot of them, more than the amount that are in the actual cast of the show.

Katya stays by Trixie’s side like a tether. “Why don’t we all go around and say our names and our parts.”

“This isn’t summer camp, Katya,” Adore says.

“You know what—”

Bianca, who’s strolling by the group, cuts Katya off. “The kid has a point.”

Adore’s smirk grows. Katya just puts fingers to her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. Trixie would laugh, but she’s too overwhelmed, so she just shifts her weight from side to side.

“Fine,” Katya says. “That’s Kennedy, Kameron, Asia.” She points at each person, and Trixie tries to keep up. Kennedy looks like an old, grumpy man, and Trixie decides that he was made for the part of Cal; Kameron is jacked and has more tattoos than Katya, even; and Asia seems amused with the whole situation, but she’s biting back a smile. “Kim Chi, Ben, and Bob. There, done.”

Ben looks like he came out of Old Hollywood in his fedora and dress pants and Bob is just _really_ tall. Kim is the only person she doesn’t know from her conversation with Katya the night before. She’s pretty, Trixie thinks, her makeup an odd combination of eccentric and perfection.

Everyone is staring at her, and she realizes she’s probably supposed to introduce herself.

“Hi, I’m Trixie.”

A chorus of _hi, Trixie_ rings through the group, and then Bianca’s clapping her hands loud enough to fill the whole room.

“Okay, enough, you all know each other. Katya, get the books, please.” Bianca marches to the middle of the circle, and though she’s probably the smallest one there, she looks like a coach at the center of a huddle. “Listen, we’re gonna do a full run-through today. I want you off book by the end of next week, so start working on that now. We’re working on a solid delivery — nothing perfect, but I want you guys to really feel the movement of the words and to get used to playing off of each other.” Katya returns to the circle, a stack of librettos in her arms, and she hands them out. “You can use as much or as little of the space as you want. Be ready in five.”

Katya hands Trixie a book and moves on. Trixie flips through the pages and, fuck, there’s a lot of them. There’s a lot of words, and she has to remember most of them. The other actors start for the stage, but Trixie can’t seem to move. Her chest is already heaving.

“Hey, are you okay?” The voice has a slight lisp, and it’s not a voice Trixie’s heard yet. She looks up to find Kim standing next to her.

“Oh, yeah, it’s just…”

“Overwhelming?” Kim asks. Trixie nods. “Yeah, things move pretty quickly around here. You’ll get used to it, though.”

Trixie smiles her thanks. She and Kim start walking to the stage. “Sorry, Katya told me who everyone was playing, but I must have forgotten you.”

“I’m not really a cast member. Well, I am,” she says, “but I’m just the understudy for Dawn.”

“Oh.” Trixie feels awkward for asking. She remembers that feeling of being an understudy, being so close to the lead but not even really getting on the stage. It’s like a daily rejection.

Kim must see the remorse on her face, because she smiles. “It’s no big deal, I’m not really experienced so I didn’t want a big part. I’m happy being understudy.”

“Do I have an understudy?” Trixie asks, suddenly realizing that there aren’t any other actors there.

“Yeah, probably,” Kim says. “Bianca doesn’t usually have them come to rehearsals because they cause problems, sometimes. I’m here because Adore is definitely going to miss a few shows, so she wants me working with the main cast, too.”

They climb the stairs to the stage and start filing in with the other actors. Everyone is doing voice warm-ups or stretching, and it looks more like a track team than a group of musical theater nerds-turned-adults.

“Have you worked with Bianca before?”

Kim nods. “I was doing makeup on her last show and I understudied a supporting role. Adore was on that show, too.”

That lines up, Trixie realizes. Adore must have started sleeping with Bianca during their last show, and she obviously knows Katya already.

“It seems like you all know each other well.” Trixie begins massaging her jaw, working out her shoulders, doing all the things she hated doing before Theater class.

“The LA theater community is small, and Bianca’s pretty much at the center of it,” Kim explains. “We’ve all either crossed paths or worked together in some way.”

Trixie is about to respond, but Bianca stands up on a chair in the house and starts clapping her hands. “All right, hookers, let’s start. Get your books, we’re skipping the songs for now. Jenna, Becky, Cal, Dawn, front and center. Katya’s standing in as Joe.” They all scramble to their places, Katya finding her way in the middle. “Opening up, blah, blah, blah, and… go.”

Trixie’s first bit of dialogue is with Katya, so she stands between her and Asia. Katya looks out of her element, but she keeps up with the pace, just with less inflection than the rest of them. Trixie isn’t sure if she should move around or not, but Adore is zipping around the stage, so Trixie feels like she can walk as she reads her lines. She travels between Katya and where the diner counter would be, and then to the bathroom as Adore and Asia join her for the intro to “The Negative”.

“Looks okay, everyone, just don’t be afraid to move,” Bianca says. “Pretend like it’s your first time reading it, but there’s an audience watching. What are your instincts telling you?”

Trixie nods vehemently. She’s ready to soak in everything that Bianca tells her — Bianca may be abrasive, but she’s smart and apparently a great director. Trixie has already learned more in this rehearsal than she did in two years of college Theater classes.

They continue with the next scene, and Trixie feels like she’s getting to know her costars through their characters. She picks up on the intonations of their voices, the way they overact or underact, how quickly they fall into the rhythm of the scene. She can tell who’s a seasoned actor and who’s just starting, and they can probably tell that she’s new, too. Kennedy seems to have the most experience, and watching him play off of Asia is fantastic. They both have a perfect Southern drawl that just adds to the experience.

Bianca stops them occasionally to give notes, but she’s mostly just coaxing the performance out of them rather than trying to beat what they’re giving into shape. She gives Trixie a lot of pointers, tells her to open up at times, to hold back when necessary. Before Trixie realizes it, she’s playing opposite Kameron and Jenna is meeting Dr. Pomatter for the first time.

Kameron is very interesting to work with. Trixie can tell that he’s shy, and he’s definitely holding back, but his performance is really good. He doesn’t come to it naturally — she can see years of work in the way that his eyes study the page. It’s very calculated. Trixie’s thankful for it, though, because it means he can carry them through the scene.

At that very moment, Trixie realizes just _how much_ she’s acting out her life. This scene with Dr. Pomatter is pretty much the exact conversation she had at the Planned Parenthood clinic almost a month ago, just without the weird flirting and awkward doctor. She, like Jenna, straight up told the nurse that she didn’t want her baby, and she took the abortion pamphlets, but she never brought herself to look at them.

They get through the whole show, running it faster than it would be performed, and then Bianca calls lunch.

“Thank _fuck_ ,” Adore yells, “I’m starving.”

Trixie can relate. The electrolytes from her Gatorade couldn’t take the place of a real meal.

“Who’s ordering the pizza?” Asia asks.

Kim holds up her phone. “On it.”

Trixie descends the stairs and goes to her purse. Her throat is dry, and she takes gulps of Gatorade so fast she almost chokes. She coughs, chest thick with stupid electrolytes and trapped air bubbles. She sees Katya walking towards her, and she swallows down her coughs and straightens.

“How are you holding up?” Katya asks. She leans against the back of a seat and folds her arms over her chest. Trixie watches the way her tattoos scrunch and smooth with the movement.

“I’m doing good. Do I seem like I’m doing good?” Trixie bites her lip. She wants Katya’s approval, she realizes, more than Bianca’s or anyone else’s.

Katya nods. “You look like a natural.”

There’s a snicker, and then a full laugh a few feet away from them. Trixie turns her head to find Adore, Kim, and Asia watching them.

“ _Damn_ , Katya moves fast,” Adore says, a little too loud to be accidental.

Trixie’s head whips back to Katya, whose eyes are wide and blue, clashing with the red blush on her face. She looks at the girls quickly and flashes them her middle finger.

“Adore, I am literally going to—”

Kim holds her phone in the air again, breaking the tension. “Pizza’s here!” She walks past the girls, between Katya and Adore, effectively ending the exchange. On her way out the door, she grabs Bob and Kameron, and they go to retrieve the food.

Adore wiggles her way between the seats, bumps Katya’s hip, and takes Trixie’s wrist in her hand. “Come sit with me, Trix.”

Katya makes a face at Adore before she pulls Trixie away.

Ten minutes later, they’re all sitting in the first few rows, silent but for the sounds of chewing. Trixie’s on her second piece of cheese pizza, and she’s already eyeing a third still in the box.

“So, Trixie, are you gay?” Adore asks. Trixie’s eyes widen, and her pizza slips out of her hand and onto the plate. _Fuck_.

Bob leans over the seats and smacks the back of Adore’s head. “You can’t just ask someone that!”

She shrugs. “Hey, I like to know the gay-straight ratio of my work environment.”

“Oh, _Jesus_ ,” Bianca says, but she can’t keep the smile off of her face.

“There’s—” Adore points at herself, Bianca, Katya, Ben. “—four of us, and…” She pauses. “Well, however many people are left are straight. I don’t know math, but I know the gays are outnumbered.”

“That sounds a little heterophobic,” Kim says, and Adore bounces in her seat next to Trixie.

“And what about it?” Adore asks.

Bianca sighs. “Please, don’t get her started.”

Asia, thankfully, intervenes, and Trixie is glad that the conversation seems to be moving on. “Where are you from, Trixie?”

“I’m from,” Trixie starts, swallowing the bite of pizza she just took, “Milwaukee.”

“Neighbors!” Kim says. “I’m from Chicago.”

Trixie smiles. “I’ve always wanted to go.” Trixie looks around and sees that everyone’s attention is on her. “Are you all from around here?”

“I’m from Dallas,” Kennedy says.

Asia nods. “Me, too. We met at a theater there and came here together.”

“Ben’s from Seattle, Bob’s from Georgia.” Adore lists the cast and their places of origin. “Bianca is from good ol’ New Orleans. I’m from Azusa. And Kam…”

Kameron finally speaks up. “Nashville. I’m from Nashville.”

“Wow,” Trixie says. “And you all just came _here_?”

Bob laughs. “Yep.”

“Same as you, kid,” Bianca says.

Katya has been silent for most of lunch, and Trixie looks across the row at her. She’s playing with a piece of crust, not really paying attention. Trixie’s chest aches, she wants to reach out and touch her. She’s never seen Katya this quiet.

It’s like Katya can hear her thoughts, because her eyes lift and catch Trixie’s. Her breath gets caught in her throat for a second — Katya is really stunning, her face is thoughtful, eyes sad. She flashes Trixie a smile, but she can tell it’s not genuine.

They wrap up lunch, Bob taking charge of throwing away the garbage, and Bianca starts directing them. The musicians get back from break, ready to actually accompany singing — it’s time to rehearse the songs.

“We’re going to start with solos, mostly because I’m going to split you up. Kim, I want you to do ‘When He Sees Me’ first, and then we’ll do ‘I Didn’t Plan It’ and ‘What Baking Can Do’,” Bianca says. Kim nods and starts for the stage. “Boys, go in the back of the theater and run your own songs, work on projecting. Adore, I want you to go with Katya and work on your lines.”

Adore’s shoulders slump. “Why?”

“Because you’re supposed to be playing the innocent virgin, and right now it’s not very convincing. You need all the help you can get.”

“You would know,” Katya mumbles beside her. Trixie laughs so loud it’s practically a screech, and she covers her mouth to hide it. She catches Bianca’s smirk despite the blush that appears under her heavy makeup.

Katya laughs as she puts her arm around Adore’s shoulder. “Come on, I’m not that terrible.”

Adore grumbles as they walk away.

Trixie watches them go towards the exit sign near the stage and pretends like she isn’t watching the way Katya’s ass moves in her tight dress.

* * *

“So you’re into the new girl.”

The starter snaps once, twice, and then the lighter spits out a flame and lights the cigarette. Katya takes a drag, the nicotine rush instantly settling her nerves.

“Don’t start, Adore,” she says on her exhale, already taking another drag.

“She’s really cute.” Adore makes a grabbing motion for the cigarette, but Katya just flicks ash at her. “Those big brown eyes? Precious. I’d be into her if—”

“If you weren’t up Bianca’s ass?”

Adore glares at her. “If she were my type.”

“And if she were gay,” Katya says, dragging a pebble across the ground with the toe of her shoe.

“Oh, please.”

“What?”

Adore huffs. “You’re so stupid, Kat. She’s gay as _fuck._ At least, she is for you.”

Katya bites her lip. She saw that panic, the way Trixie’s eyes flashed and how she dropped her slice of pizza when Adore asked her. It was the same as at dinner the night before, when she mentioned Adore and Bianca were together — panic. She’s seen it on the faces of her classmates in Catholic school and some of the stuck-up rich girls who end up in a show cast every once in a while. Trixie had to try so hard not to let her bias show. She’s actually the _opposite_ of gay.

“You don’t even know her, Adore,” Katya says.

“Want me to suss it out for you?” Adore starts poking her arm with the libretto. “I think she’s nice. I’ll befriend her, we’ll have a little sleepover, I can start asking about you…”

Katya snatches the libretto out of Adore’s hand, her cigarette tumbling to the ground in the process. She smacks Adore with the book. “Focus on pretending you’re not a whore.” She hands the libretto back. “And you owe me a cigarette.”

They finish running some of Adore’s lines in twenty minutes, and she’s actually taking it seriously, for once. Katya was a bit skeptical of her in the role of Dawn, because — well, Adore really _is_ a hooker, on the side, and Dawn is the complete opposite of that. Her solo is literally about being afraid of men and relationships. After working with her, though, Katya sees what Bianca must have known in the first place. Adore is a great actor, and her personality has so many layers that even if she doesn’t fit the image of Dawn, she can find the connections from deep within herself.

Katya supposes Adore’s aversion to commitment and denial of her feelings for Bianca is a good jumping-off point.

When they go back inside, Trixie is still on stage finishing “What Baking Can Do”. Katya settles into a seat in the first row next to Bianca, who’s standing up and gesturing with her whole body about breath control. She fully intends to zone out, not wanting to focus on Trixie for just five minutes, but that’s something her mind can’t do right now. Trixie is singing again, and Katya just likes to watch her face when she does it. _Fuck._ It’s like she wants to torture herself, twist the knife of Trixie’s sexuality and Katya’s shame just a little deeper.

It’s helpful to think about how this will be her last show in Los Angeles. She’s decided — she’s tired of the lackluster scene, the West Hollywood gays, and the East Hollywood straights. She’s not even excited about New York specifically, but she needs a change in scenery. Maybe she’ll make a few stops along the way. She doesn’t know.

Bianca gives Trixie a few more notes and then sends her off the stage. “Adore, let’s go, it’s your solo.”

Adore bounds up the stage and passes Trixie on the way, already singing at the top of her lungs. Katya laughs, not because it’s funny, but because Trixie looks at her like she should be in an institution. She gets down from the stage and walks straight for Katya, taking the seat next to her.

“Come on, Idol!” Asia shouts from a few rows back.

Trixie’s brow furrows as she settles into her seat. “Idol?” She leans closer to Katya for an explanation. Katya can feel the heat her body absorbed from the stage lights.

“Adore was on _American Idol_ when she was seventeen,” Katya whispers.

“Damn.” Trixie folds her arms over her chest and crosses her legs. Katya looks out of the corner of her eye, just for a moment, to find her breasts pressing out of her low-cut exercise shirt. It’s fucking glorious — _and it’s off-limits_ , she has to keep reminding herself.

Adore begins her solo, and Bianca starts shouting immediately. She’s one of the best singers Katya’s ever come across, which is why Bianca is so hard on her. That, and Bianca is absolutely in love with her. She just wants to see Adore shine.

“How did she do with you?” Trixie asks. Her eyes are narrowed, watching Adore like she’s a director scrutinizing a performance. Katya almost forgets that she’s twenty, even younger than Adore.

Katya shrugs. “It’s much better. She has a lot of energy—”

“I can tell.” Trixie laughs.

“Sometimes she does her best work when she’s taken out of the group, so she’ll actually focus. And getting her attention away from Bianca usually helps, too.”

Bianca looks down at Katya and smacks her shoulder. “Quit fucking gossiping about me.”

Katya looks at Trixie like they’ve been caught. Trixie’s eyes are wide with faux-guilt. They burst into laughter simultaneously, Katya wheezing and Trixie shrieking like a bird. They’re so loud that they disrupt the pianist and Adore stumbles over her lyrics. Bianca brings the whole operation to a halt and stares down at them.

“Am I going to have to kick you two out of my rehearsal?”

Katya doesn’t even look at Bianca, just watches Trixie look at her with actual guilt. “No, sorry, Bianca.”

“You’re a professional now, kid,” Bianca says. “Start acting like it.”

They turn back to the stage, where Adore is draped across the speaker she loves to sit on, taking a selfie upside-down. She drops her phone, and it crashes onto the edge of the stage, and then down to the floor.

“ _Fuck_!”

Bianca pinches the bridge of her nose, squeezes her eyes shut, and fixes her mouth in something between a smile and a wince. “I love my job, I love my job.”

Trixie can’t contain the giggles that come out of her, and then Katya’s laughing again.

“B, I think it’s broken,” Adore says, still on the speaker.

“Adore, get off the fucking stage. You two—” Bianca turns to her and Trixie. “—out. Boys!”

Katya rolls her eyes, and she’s honestly thankful for the break. She doesn’t have much to do in these first few rehearsals, Bianca has the lead for a while, and she struggles to find ways to fill her time. She stands up and looks at Trixie.

Trixie looks nervous, for real this time, and there are practically tears in her eyes. Katya taps her on the shoulder, nudging her out of her seat.

“Come on, let’s go outside.”

Trixie still doesn’t move, so Katya opens her hand, asking Trixie to take it. Thankfully, she does, and Katya takes her through the exit and into the alley. The heavy door thunks behind them, and Trixie jumps. Katya is panting in the heat already, but the temperature in LA can’t be warmer than the way her hand feels in Trixie’s.

“Is she actually mad at me?” Trixie asks.

Katya smiles, but Trixie still looks like she’s going to cry. “No, don’t worry.” A tear slips out of the corner of her eye. _Shit_ , she doesn’t know what to do. “Hey, it’s okay. Bianca knows that it’s all fun and games, she just likes to move things along. Don’t cry.”

She puts her free hand on Trixie’s face and wipes the tear away, her other squeezing Trixie’s fingers. They’re close enough that Katya can see the ripples in Trixie’s brown eyes and the sweat forming on the top of her lip. Trixie scrunches her face and sniffles, stops crying.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I got so emotional,” Trixie says. “I’m not usually like this.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Trixie looks down, sees their hands connected. Katya thinks she’s going to move, dart away, run back inside. She just squeezes Katya’s hand.

“Thank you for being so nice to me. I haven’t had a lot of that, recently, and I forgot how much I needed it.”

It makes Katya’s heart hurt, just how broken this girl is. She remembers being twenty, dealing with friend drama and bad grades like they were the biggest crises she’d ever face. Even when she was on drugs and at rock bottom, she had her parents and her friends to support her. Trixie was cast out, seemingly for no reason; she’s on her own, with so much potential getting squandered because she can barely make ends meet.

Katya has been staring at Trixie for too long, and it’s making her want to do something stupid, like kiss her. She’s the one who lets go of Trixie’s hand, and she takes a step back. Her fingers are tingling and her brain is itching for a cigarette. Trixie leans against the alley wall and looks at the flickering sign for the Vietnamese place.

“So, don’t take this question the wrong way,” Trixie says, “but what exactly do you do?”

Katya laughs. She pulls a cigarette and her lighter from her bra and puts the cigarette between her lips.

“Well, I’m the assistant director,” she starts, flicking the lighter and getting a flame on the first try.

Trixie turns suddenly. “Hey!” Her voice is high-pitched, nervous. She backs away from Katya.

“Have you never seen a cig before?” Katya blows out a cloud of smoke. She has no idea what’s up with Trixie, but it’s weird — weirder than Trixie’s reaction to gay people. The smoke blows towards Trixie, and she covers her mouth and coughs. Katya’s heart starts beating fast, and it’s not from the tar in her lungs. “Shit, are you okay?

Trixie’s probably allergic to cigarette smoke and she’s going to need to go to the hospital. Great, Katya’s about to incapacitate their star and the girl she’s suddenly very interested in.

“Yeah, I just— could you not do that around me?” Trixie’s half-turned away from her, only looking at her out of the corner of her eye.

Katya feels sick to her stomach. God, she really fucked this up. She puts the cig out on the wall and takes a tentative step closer to Trixie. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it would be a problem.”

Trixie shakes her head. "It's fine."

“I’m so stupid.” Katya really just wants to throw herself into traffic, as morbid as that is. What’s even worse is she feels so strongly for Trixie already, and she knows Trixie won’t feel the same. This really is the worst day.

“Katya,” Trixie says. She puts her hand out and touches Katya’s shoulder, gives her a warm smile. “It’s fine, I promise. The smoke, uh… messes with my voice. Just warn me next time and I’ll figure something out.”

“I totally understand. I’m a little behind the times, with the whole no smoking thing. Sorry, again.” Katya scratches the back of her neck and swallows thickly.

Trixie’s smile brightens. “You didn’t finish answering my question.”

“What was it again?”

“I was asking what you do.” Trixie laughs. “I sound like a bitch.”

Katya waves a hand. “No, not at all. I went to school for Performance Art, so I do more of the blocking and choreography. I don’t know singing as well.”

“Ah.” Trixie leans her shoulder on the wall, and Katya mirrors her. They aren’t even a foot apart; Katya’s head is swimming. “See, I’m not the greatest dancer — I mean, I can move my body, sure, but it doesn’t always look great.”

For some reason, Katya doesn’t believe her. There’s no way a body like _that_ could ever look bad.

“Our show shouldn’t have _too_ much dancing, but you are going to have to move,” Katya says.

Trixie smiles. “I guess you’ll have to give me some extra help, then.”

Katya looks into her eyes, at the way she’s leaning forward and her chest is pushed out, just slightly. _Is she… flirting_? Katya would like to know, really. Things with Trixie have been a rollercoaster, and Katya feels like she’s about to crest another hill. She really can’t get a read on this girl.

Before she has the time to further explore what’s going on, the metal door opens and Kim’s head pops out. Trixie’s eyes fall and she turns around.

“Bianca wants you guys inside,” Kim says.

Trixie nods. “Thanks.” She sends another smile to Katya before grabbing the edge of the door. Katya walks through, smiling at Trixie on her way.

Bianca is shouting again — a _shock_ — so she strolls to where she’s supposed to be. Trixie goes to the row behind her, stops at her pink purse, and pulls her phone out.

“Hey,” Katya leans over the back of the seat, “what time is it?”

Trixie doesn’t respond, just keeps staring at her phone screen. Her brows furrow, and Katya can see that her chest starts heaving. She tries to see what’s on the screen, worried that something is wrong, but she’s too far away.

“Trixie?” Nothing. “Trix?”

She taps Trixie’s shoulder, and finally Trixie looks up, brows still knitted. “What?”

“Everything okay?”

Trixie swallows thickly. “Yeah, fine.” She shoves her phone back in her purse and leaves the row, walking towards the stage.

Bianca starts calling all the actors back and tells them to go in this place or that, gets the musicians to start playing the final song. Trixie looks like she’s been hit by a car, Katya thinks as she watches her. She nearly stumbles a few times on the stage, completely out of it, and Katya’s ready to run up there and catch her each time. The song goes on, though, and Trixie manages to pull herself together. Rehearsal continues on.

Katya never finds out the time.


	2. Chapter 2

Trixie is in the shower when her phone dings, and she doesn’t even have to look at it to know who it is. The same person has texted her every other day for a week. She just continues on with her shower, the water growing colder by the second. There are clumps of conditioner in her hair, and she tries to comb them out under the spray as quickly as possible. The chill of the water is getting too unbearable.

She finishes and gets out, but still doesn’t look at her phone. She wraps her hair in a towel, covers herself with lotion, and then pulls on her oversized t-shirt and spandex. The mirror is fogged. She swipes a hand over it and looks at herself. She thinks her boobs are bigger under the shirt, and maybe her face is a little rounder. She pulls the shirt tight around her stomach and wonders when she’ll start showing.

Maybe it’s time to read those mommy-to-be blogs.

Her stomach turns at the thought — not because she’s nervous about the pregnancy, but because those things are so cringeworthy. She has prenatal vitamins and she knows the basics; she really doesn’t think she needs to go down a rabbit-hole of finding weird smoothie concoctions to ensure her baby gets into Harvard.

Trixie is about to leave the bathroom, and she takes her phone from the counter on the way out. She’s put off checking it long enough, she guesses. She taps the screen and it lights up, shows her and her sister’s smiling faces. The first notification on the list is from Jared — just as she suspected.

 **Jared Richardson:** Hey, Trix. Just checking in.

 **Jared Richardson:** I know things got weird there, but I want you to know that I’m not mad at you, and I hope you’re not mad at me, either.

 **Jared Richardson:** If you’re not into guys, that’s fine. We can still be friends, I’d never hold that against you. I just want to make sure I didn’t do anything you didn’t want, you know?

Trixie squeezes her eyes shut. She has considered blocking his number for a lot of reasons, but she can’t bring herself to do it. She can’t bring herself to answer him, either. Her stomach turns, and she pretends it’s because of the baby even though she knows the fetus isn’t doing anything yet.

Jared was her best friend for a long time. She didn’t love him, he didn’t love her — it wasn’t that kind of story. But, they’d do anything for each other, had truly done _everything_ for each other, up until the night Trixie’s stepdad threw a beer bottle at her head and called her a dyke; it was then that she ran to Jared’s house, took off her clothes, and kissed him.

You know the rest.

Trixie slides under the covers of her second-hand twin bed, snuggles into the worn mattress. She’s lucky she had enough money saved to have some established life — even if that meant just two-weeks rent for an apartment, a creaky bed, a little food, and gas in her car. She is thirsting for the day when she can pay her rent monthly instead of weekly, when she can buy some furniture and new clothes. Fuck, she’d really need new clothes at some point.

She lays on her back and lets the weight of her poor, little life settle on her chest.

Her phone buzzes on the mattress, and she throws her hands over her eyes and presses down, hard. She groans. As if the guilt weren’t eating her from the inside out already, she’s being bombarded with more reasons to feel awful about herself. She picks up the phone warily and reads the message.

It’s not from Jared, but from an unknown number.

 **Unknown:** Hi Trix, it’s Katya.

Trixie had almost forgotten that she’d given Katya her number earlier that day. Her heart starts pounding so hard she can hear it in her ears and feel it in her feet.

 **Trixie Mattel:** Hey Katya!

She cringes at the exclamation mark as soon as she sends it.

 **Katya Zamolodchikova:** Are u off work?

 **Trixie Mattel:** Yeah, I got off at 10.

 **Katya Zamolodchikova:** What are u up to?

Trixie takes a deep breath and runs her hand through her wet hair. The heavy feeling is still in her chest.

 **Trixie Mattel:** Being crushed by the weight of my failures and misfortunes.

She almost laughs at how pathetic she sounds.

 **Katya Zamolodchikova:** Well arent u a ray of sunshine?

 **Katya Zamolodchikova:** That’s okay, I’m there with u.

 **Trixie Mattel:** What’s wrong?

 **Katya Zamolodchikova:** The road to recovery is getting a little bumpy.

 _Oh._ Trixie feels a tug in her chest. She hasn’t known Katya for long, only about a week, but she knows how important staying clean is to Katya. She’s seen how Katya’s fingers itch for a cigarette every time she gets stressed or feels trapped and can only image how much worse that is when she wants to do drugs.

 **Trixie Mattel:** What normally helps with that?

 **Katya Zamolodchikova:** Cigarettes and company. Of which I have neither.

 **Katya Zamolodchikova:** And walks, but it’s raining.

Trixie bites her lip and thumbs at the corner of her phone. The time at the top of the screen says 11:10. It’s late, and Trixie is exhausted, but she’s lonely, too. Maybe staying up late won’t hurt, and if it keeps Katya safe, it’s worth it.

 **Trixie Mattel:** What’s your favorite movie?

 **Katya Zamolodchikova:** Contact.

 **Trixie Mattel:** I’ve never seen it.

 **Katya Zamolodchikova:** Oh, Stacey, u don’t even know what ur missing. Jodie Foster? Incredible.

Trixie is already moving as she reads that text. She goes into her bathroom, looks in the small mirror over the sink. Her hair is stringy and wet, and there’s not much she can do about it quickly, so she tugs it into a high ponytail. She starts doing her eyeliner when she realizes she hasn’t even texted Katya back.

 **Trixie Mattel:** I’m down to watch it with you now. I’ll bring cigarettes and slushies :)

Trixie is bold and brash; when she sets her mind on what she wants, she goes for it. She doesn’t know what she wants with Katya — but she feels that there’s _something_ there that’s pulling her towards it, and she’s hoping that it’s pulling Katya, too. Though Katya makes her nervous, she won’t let it get in the way of figuring out exactly what she’s longing for.

She continues doing her makeup, finishes it and goes back to her room to put on a bra. She hopes the comfy-chic is working for her. It’s been almost five minutes and Katya hasn’t responded. Trixie is in her kitchen, slipping her tennis shoes on and staring at her phone screen. Maybe she misjudged it? Maybe it’s too soon, they aren’t in the point of their friendship where they hang out yet? Trixie checks the time twice more before tapping out another message.

 **Trixie Mattel:** Sorry, that was super out of nowhere and short notice. I can leave you alone.

Katya’s response is almost immediate.

 **Katya Zamolodchikova:** No! Come over! Sry, I was cleaning, haha. Definitely come over.

Trixie smiles, already out the door. She runs down the stairs and outside, into the rain. Her car is a few spaces away from the building, thankfully, and she reaches the blue pickup truck and climbs in. It still smells like home — like Wisconsin, not home anymore. Her sister’s braided friendship bracelet hangs from the rearview mirror, her brother’s baseball still rolls around on the floor. The tan seats are beat up, falling apart, cracked and stained from pool chlorine and spilled Diet Coke. Every time she gets in her truck — for groceries or gas — she feels like she’s astral-projecting to a completely different life.

Katya’s address comes through, and Trixie plugs it into Google Maps. The LA streets have cleared in the rare summer rain, thankfully, so she makes it quickly to the gas station. She’s not sure what type of cigarettes Katya likes, or what color slushie she drinks, so she gets a pack of Marlboro's and both a red and a blue slushie, deciding she’ll settle for whichever color Katya doesn’t want. Trixie gets back in the car, secures the slushies in the cupholder, cigarette pack between them. She takes a picture and sends it to Katya with a smiley face, then gets back on the road.

* * *

“Fuck.” Katya has never moved faster than she is now, she’s sure. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ my whole-ass life.”

She isn’t necessarily a messy person — her apartment is just cluttered, and clutter becomes mess very quickly. After her third pass over the one-bedroom, she’s only half-satisfied with it. She’s tried to make sure that she’s put away all of her decorative knives, plastic body parts, and sets of pulled teeth, because if she’s missed even _one_ of the aforementioned items, she’ll be clocked as a serial killer and will end up in jail. Or worse, she’ll end up without Trixie.

Trixie sent her the picture of the slushies eight minutes ago, so Katya figures she’s probably close. The lights are low, only a lamp on in the corner of the room, and the television screen casts a blue glow as the _Contact_ title screen waits for them to start it. She has a folded blanket on either arm of the red tufted sofa and a multitude of throw pillows to match. Katya thinks she’s as ready as she can be.

Her phone rings, and she jumps, then dives for it on the sofa. It’s only Bianca, and her chest sinks when she realizes.

“What?” Katya snaps into the phone.

“ _Asshole. What kind of a fucking greeting is that?_ ”

Katya sighs and sits up on the sofa. She taps her foot. “I don’t have time to talk, B.”

“ _Yes, you do. You’re not doing anything_ ,” Bianca says.

“How do you know that?”

“ _Because you haven’t done anything — or anyone — in months_.”

Katya hears Adore cackle in the background, and she groans. “Don’t _you_ have someone to be doing right now?”

“ _Really, queen? Listen, a writer friend of mine in New York is looking to open a play and they need a director. I’m going to forward you their email._ ”

Katya’s heart stops. A job, a fucking _job_ , in New York that she could get. She’s been thinking about it for a while now on the back burner, but this little nugget of hope is making it feel real, and she doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Bianca, I really can’t talk right now.”

Bianca sighs. “ _I just think you should interview, Katya, really. You’ll love it there_.”

The fucking worst thing possible happens — there’s a knock at the door, and now Katya’s stuck on the phone with Bianca (and Adore) and can’t leave Trixie waiting. Katya gets off of the sofa, her stomach dropping to her feet, and she huffs as she walks to the door. It’s getting harder to breathe by the second.

“ _Wait, you were serious?_ ” Bianca asks, and she sounds literally astounded.

Instead of answering, Katya opens the door, and there’s _Trixie_ in a baggy t-shirt and spandex that just barely peeks out underneath the hem of her shirt. She has one slushie tucked into her arm, the other in her right hand, and a pack of Marlboro’s in her left. If you’d asked Katya to describe her future wife, that’d be it — that image right in front of her.

“Hi,” Trixie says. Her voice is soft, having realized that Katya is on the phone, but not soft enough to keep from going into the phone speaker.

“ _Who the fuck was that?_ ”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Bianca.” Katya steps back, letting Trixie into the apartment.

“ _Was that Trixie? You’re with Trixie_?” Bianca’s words are punctuated with an _ooh_ from Adore.

Katya shuts the door behind Trixie. “Bye, Bianca. Bye, _Adore_.” She hangs up before they can say anything else.

Trixie is in her apartment — _Trixie is in her apartment!_ — and she makes her way to the kitchen part of the open-concept living space. She sets the slushies down like she’s been in the apartment before, then goes to the drawers.

“Sorry about that,” Katya says. She’s a little slow, the fact that Trixie is moving around the apartment like she knows where everything goes is a bit disorienting.

Trixie shrugs as she digs through Katya’s silverware. “That was Bianca on the phone?” She pulls out a sharp knife and cuts open the cellophane packaging around the pack of cigarettes, removing it with an obnoxious crinkle.

“And Adore.”

“Cute.” Trixie puts the knife down on the counter and walks towards Katya, holding out the pack.

Katya takes it from her. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing.” Trixie smiles. She picks up the slushies again and weighs them in her hands like she’s a scale. “Red or blue?”

“Trixie, come on,” Katya says. She doesn’t want to make Trixie uncomfortable, but she knows that Trixie is barely getting by, Trixie doesn’t keep it a secret. “Let me pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But you got the slushies, too. At least let me pay you for the death-sticks.”

“Red or blue?” Trixie insists.

“Blue, please.”

“Thank god.” Trixie passes her on her way out of the kitchen, hands her the slushie, and hops over the arm of the sofa, settles into the cushions. She pulls up the hem of her shirt and slides two straws out of the waistband of her spandex. “Pay me back by showing me this movie.”

Katya can’t keep the giant smile off of her face. She goes to the sofa and takes the straw that Trixie proffers, peeling it out of the wrapping and sticking it in her slushie. She sits next to Trixie, one arm propped on the side of the sofa. Trixie has a leg tucked under herself and a blanket resting in her lap. Her toes tickle the side of Katya’s thigh.

They watch the movie in relative silence. Sometimes, Katya mouths the words — she knows the whole script — but mostly she’s trying to keep herself from doing something too embarrassing, like reciting fun facts about the production of the film or the science behind it. She may be a proud _Contact_ aficionado, but Trixie doesn’t need to know that just yet.

Trixie looks interested in the movie, but Katya does notice her gaze wandering. She looks around the apartment, and Katya wonders what stupid thing she missed that Trixie could be scrutinizing. She sees Trixie look at her once or twice.

Ellie Arroway is about to go into the machine-wormhole to reach Vega when Katya realizes that her slushie is empty and she’s been bending the plastic cup so that it pops. She needs a smoke break, so she pauses the movie.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, picking up her new cigarettes from the coffee table. Trixie nods.

She swipes an ashtray from the kitchen table and goes to the window beside it. It’s small, but the fire escape is outside of it, so she can hang her upper body through without the fear of falling from the fifth floor. It isn’t raining anymore, but water drips from the pipes connected to the roof. Her lighter takes a few tries to light in the damp air — she needs a new one, she realizes. When her cigarette is lit and she’s inhaling the smoke, she opens her phone.

There’s Bianca’s email, a forwarded message from a Sasha Velour — Katya thinks the name is vaguely Russian, and it intrigues her. She reads through the email quickly, then reads it again. Sasha’s adapting pieces of Russian folklore into a modern avant-garde play, and they’re looking for a director who can think outside of the box, help develop the ideas and concepts. Bianca has attached her own message with Sasha’s: _They’re gay as fuck, you’ll love them_.

Katya looks back inside the apartment, sees Trixie’s darkened silhouette on the sofa. _Fuck_.

She saves the email and shoots a quick response of _Are you ethnically profiling me?_ to Bianca. Her cigarette is starting to burn low, so she takes a few drags in succession until the paper runs out. She stubs the butt in the ashtray, puts it on the table, and shuts the window.

Trixie is draped across the sofa when she gets back, her feet taking up Katya’s seat. She’s scrolling through her phone, face scrunched in concentration, and Katya thinks she looks adorable.

“Sorry,” Trixie says when she notices Katya approaching. She has a guilty frown on her face that Katya wants to get rid of.

“It’s not a problem, I want you to be comfortable with me.”

Trixie smiles — there it is, Katya is happy, now. “I am.”

“Can I sit down?” Katya points at Trixie’s feet, and Trixie pouts. “Here.” She lifts Trixie’s feet and slides onto the sofa under them, placing them on her lap. She repositions the blanket so that it covers Trixie’s legs and her own.

“Do you feel better?” Trixie asks.

Katya nods. “You?”

“Yes.”

They’re silent for a few moments, but neither reaches for the remote to start the movie again.

“Can I ask you a question?’ Katya says. Trixie nods. “Do you regret coming here?”

Trixie twists her lips to the side. “To your apartment?” She laughs, a bit awkwardly.

“No, no. To Los Angeles.”

Trixie looks around the apartment again, her eyes never settling in one place. Katya thinks she isn’t going to answer, for a minute, but then she takes a deep breath, finally looking at Katya again. She looks at peace with the world, somehow.

“Do I regret the thing that brought me to Los Angeles?” She’s asking herself more than she’s talking to Katya. “Yeah, I do. But I don’t regret coming here.”

Katya feels her wiggle her toes a little bit, and it makes her heart melt just a little. She puts a hand on Trixie’s ankle and squeezes, and Trixie straight-up _moans_. When Katya looks at her face, her cheeks are pink.

Katya does it again. “Sore ankles?”

“Yeah.”

She continues to massage her ankles and calves, gently squeezing on different parts of Trixie’s legs with her hands. Trixie squirms on her end of the couch, her chest rising and falling slowly to keep her contented noises at bay. Katya just wants her to let it all out, but she’s already crossed a border of friendship here; they’re in some sort of limbo, and Katya doesn’t want to encourage herself to push it further into sexual territory.

Trixie’s gaze fixates somewhere behind Katya, and it’s only a moment before Trixie speaks that she realizes she’s looking at her Russian flag. “Are you from Russia?”

“Nope,” Katya says, shaking her head. “My parents are, though. Moved here right before they had me.”

“Where did they meet?” Trixie asks.

“In a Soviet gulag.”

Trixie sits up straighter, her feet shifting over Katya’s lap. “Really?” Her mouth is open, slightly, and she’s waiting for a story, Katya can tell.

“No.” Katya wheezes a laugh at the way Trixie’s face falls. “They met in college.”

“Do you speak Russian?”

“да.”

“ _Cool_.”

Trixie opens her mouth to speak again, but Katya cuts her off. “No, I will not translate whatever phrase you were about to ask me to.”

“Why?” Trixie pouts, arms crossed over her chest.

“Потому что я слишком устал. Another time,” Katya says. “What about you? If you don’t want to talk about your parents, that’s fine—” Trixie looks relieved, and Katya pats herself on the mental back for remembering to be respectful. “Any siblings?”

“I have an older brother, Ben, and a younger half-sister, Iris.” Trixie looks down, plays with a string on the blanket.

“How old is your sister?”

“She’s ten. I miss her a lot,” Trixie says. “I wasn’t close with my brother.”

Katya runs her hand over Trixie’s legs. She doesn’t miss the way Trixie blinks away her tears. “I’m sorry you can’t see your sister anymore.”

Trixie nods.

Katya thinks they’re going to stop talking, that Trixie is going to reach for the remote that’s on the coffee table and start the movie again, but she doesn’t. She fiddles with the blanket some more, bites her lip. She looks up at Katya.

“You said you moved here with your partner, right?” Trixie asks.

This is totally not where Katya thought their conversation would go. “Uh, yeah.”

“They’re a woman?”

“Yes.” Katya isn’t sure where this is heading. Not since Trixie’s first rehearsal has anything about sexualities come up, besides the occasional Bianca-Adore gossip. Katya has gotten so many crossed signals from Trixie that she stopped trying to decipher them.

“Have you… had any other girlfriends since her?” Trixie’s eyes widen. “I didn’t mean to assume that you’re a lesbian, the question goes for boyfriends, or other partners, too.”

Katya laughs. “I’m a lesbian, you’re right. And no, I haven’t really had anymore girlfriends. That was,” Katya counts on her fingers, “God, four years ago, now. I haven’t had anything serious since then. I’m not very good at being in a relationship.”

“I doubt that.”

Trixie’s smile is small, hidden in the shadows that the TV casts across her face. She’s right, it’s not exactly the truth — it’s just what Katya keeps telling herself whenever she feels alone. She wants a serious relationship, wants the balance in her life of having a job and a girlfriend, maybe even a wife one day. But the end of her last relationship almost had her spiraling right back to where she didn’t want to be — right back to drugs, and she’s scared that’s where she’ll end up again.

“I’ve never been in a relationship,” Trixie says.

Katya gasps, and it’s only half-fake. “You? The lovely and vivacious Trixie Mattel?”

“Shut up!” Trixie takes a throw pillow and tosses it at Katya, which Katya just barely dodges. “I wasn’t that kind of girl.”

“Wow, so edgy.”

Trixie flings her legs to the floor and grabs another pillow, actually hitting Katya with it a few times before Katya snatches it from her and turns it back on her. Trixie laughs; she sounds like a Goddamn bird and it’s delightful. Katya’s smoker lungs are out of breath already, and she feigns a heart attack and collapses on top of Trixie. It makes Trixie laugh even harder, and then Trixie is clutching her shoulder and Katya’s arm is wrapped around Trixie’s knees. They take deep breaths, calming their laughter and heavy-beating hearts.

“Back to the _serious_ _and deeply emotional_ conversation I was trying to have about myself,” Trixie says, flipping the end of her ponytail over her shoulder with a huff. It sends Katya into a fit of laughter again before Trixie continues. “I didn’t even really know who I was, so there was no point in trying to figure out who I liked.”

Trixie is actually pretty serious, now. Katya knows that Trixie is trying to communicate something, and Katya is pretty sure she knows what that _something_ is. She’s looking down at Katya, still in her lap, her eyes not exactly present, as though she’s traveling through the past right in front of Katya. Her lips are open just slightly, and Katya really, _really_ wants to lean up and—

“Do you know who you are now?” she whispers instead. She has to take it slow, even if she’s right, even if Trixie is gay.

“I…” Trixie doesn’t look away despite the hesitation in her eyes. “I don’t think I want to know who I am.”

It’s not a bad answer — it’s not a denial — but Katya’s heart still sinks. _She’s not ready_.

Katya’s fingers draw circles against Trixie’s thigh. “You have all the time in the world to figure it out, but I promise you that you’ll be ten times happier once you do.” She tries to give an encouraging smile.

“I wish it were that easy.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

Trixie stares down at her, brows furrowed, but then her lips lift slowly into a smile. “Why do you sound like a wise, old sage?”

“I think I sound more like a therapist,” Katya says.

“Fine, why do you sound like a wise, old therapist?” Trixie asks.

“I have a Bachelor in Psychology, mama.”

Trixie half-screams and then laughs. “Ew, I didn’t know I was _actually_ talking to a therapist.” She taps Katya’s head. “You went to school for Performance Art and Psychology?”

Katya shrugs. “I’m a woman of many talents.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“Gross.” Trixie sticks her tongue out.

“That’s hot.”

“Gross!”

“I’m a lesbian, Barbara,” Katya says. “Tongues turn me on.”

Trixie shoves Katya’s shoulder and shifts her body forward, and Katya tumbles to the ground. Trixie’s laugh fills the room more than it ever has been filled. Katya laughs, but only a little, because she’s too busy looking at Trixie’s face and the way it just _fits_ in her apartment, and that makes her heart feel just a little bit warmer.

* * *

They don’t finish the movie, which Katya doesn’t mind much. What she does mind is that Trixie stays until 3:30 — and it’s not Trixie’s prolonged company that bothered her, but the fact that she can’t get her ass out of bed in the morning. When her alarm goes off at 9:00, she shoots Bianca a quick text saying she’ll be late and passes out.

She gets to the theater close to lunch time. The cast is already running through their lines — it’s Trixie and Kam sitting on a makeshift bench on stage, about to go into “It Only Takes A Taste”. Bianca stands in the first row, her usual spot, with Kennedy sitting beside her. Katya stands at her other side, hands on her hips.

“Finally,” Bianca says. “The Diva of Texas was useless helping me block.”

Kennedy grunts. “I’m the _Dancing_ Diva, bitch, and I don’t even choreograph my own stuff.”

It’s the first day that the cast is supposed to be off book, and from what Katya is seeing, Trixie and Kameron are holding up with their memorization.

“Your girl is doing well, even after last night.” Bianca gives Katya a side-eye and a smirk.

“There’s no reason why she shouldn’t be,” Katya says, shooting Bianca a glare right back.

“You mean you didn’t—”

“No.”

Bianca shakes her head, laughs. “She’s a smart girl. Did she realize you’re too old for her?”

“You’re one to talk about age differences,” Katya mutters.

Kennedy chuckles on the other side of Bianca, and when Bianca glares at him, he puts his hands up and stands. “This conversation is dumb as shit, anyway.” He walks away as the band starts playing the intro to “It Only Takes A Taste”.

Trixie and Kam continue with the scene and into the song despite the lack of direction from Bianca. In fact, Bianca isn’t paying attention to them at all. She’s staring at Katya, wide-eyed, her gaze occasionally flicking between Trixie and Katya.

“Jesus, Zamo,” Bianca says.

“What?” Katya realizes that her face is reflecting the swirling, complicated feeling that’s going on inside of her right now. Her brow is furrowed and her lips are pulled into a hard line, eyes like a kicked puppy.

Bianca says what Katya is thinking. “You’re fucked.”

She doesn’t argue, just nods. It’s been a long time since she’s had that kind of a night with someone, talking and laughing, shifting seamlessly between telling their darkest secrets and cracking jokes. Katya feels like Trixie is that last piece in the puzzle that’s just inching closer to completion. It’s not something she wants — she _wants_ to finish this show, _wants_ to get a fresh start in New York — but it is what she needs, and it’s getting harder to ignore that.

She just hopes that Trixie needs the same thing.

Trixie and Kameron’s voices complement each other’s well, Katya notices, probably because of her country music background and his Southern twang. They bring the song to a close and then stop, waiting for the usual direction that they haven’t gotten in what feels like hours, comparatively.

“Uh, Bianca?” Trixie calls from the stage. Bianca is still looking at Katya. “Should we go to the next scene?”

Bianca finally looks at the stage. “Yeah, set up for Jenna and Earl. Katya’s going to start blocking, now.” She gestures with her chin, signaling that Katya is supposed to go on the stage. Katya sighs. “Okay, the bench disappears, a couch replaces it— just pretend the bench is the couch, Trixie.” Katya gets on stage and stands in the corner, where the folds of the curtain part to reveal the wings. “Bob enters, and go.”

Trixie starts the scene once Bob gets on stage, and then they talk for a little. Katya interjects, positions Trixie so she can face Bob but still be seen by the audience. She tells Bob where to walk, where to throw down his toolbox and put the beer cans he’ll have once they finish props.

Trixie continues with the scene. “Earl, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t you feel sorry for me! I’m fine! I am fine! I’m celebratin’! So, looks like you’re gonna be payin’ the bills around here. How’d we do today?” Bob sticks his hand out, and Trixie pretends to give him money.

“Get closer to her, Bob,” Katya says. “You’re supposed to be drunk.”

Bob nods and keeps going. “You’re shittin’ me. That can’t be all you earned.”

“It was a slow day,” Trixie says.

“Now, walk away a little and count the money.” Katya taps Bob’s shoulder, then steps back and lets them continue.

“Well, maybe you gotta move a little faster,” Bob says, slurring his words. “Where’s my kiss?”

Trixie moves pretty naturally through the scene, her gestures slight and laden with discomfort. Bob stumbles around, grumbles when Trixie won’t kiss him the way he wants, and then Trixie tries to ease the situation, which makes Bob more angry.

“You’re supposed to be an angry drunk, Bob,” Bianca calls from the audience. “Louder!”

Bob nods and starts his line again. “You think I don’t see what you’re doin’? You think I’m stupid?”

Trixie shakes her head. “No—”

“No?”

“No, Earl, I was just thinkin’ you had a hard day, maybe some warm pie would—”

Bob storms right up to Trixie’s face and yells, “I’m not fuckin’ hungry!”

Trixie opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Katya thinks that it’s part of how she’s playing the scene, that she’s going to pause, cry, and then say her line. She doesn’t. She just freezes on the spot, Bob looming over her, getting less intense by the second.

“Do you need the line?” he whispers, shoulders sinking.

Trixie still doesn’t move, and then Katya realizes — it’s real for her.

Bianca is about to say something, Katya knows, so she just holds her hand up to keep her from doing it. “Let’s take lunch.” She walks back into the scene silently, nods at Bob to leave and then puts a hand on Trixie’s waist from behind. “Hey, Trix.” Trixie still doesn’t speak, but Katya feels her settle into Katya’s touch. The ambience picks up around them as everyone starts chattering about food. “You’re okay.”

It’s just them on the stage, but Katya knows Bianca is still watching them. She wants to get Trixie out of there as quickly as possible so she’s not embarrassed, and she’s just hoping Trixie is present enough to realize that.

“Come on.” Katya puts her other hand on Trixie’s shoulder and nudges her backwards, gently.

“Okay,” Trixie whispers. Her weight sort of falls on Katya, so Katya practically carries her backstage.

The wings are cluttered with half-made set pieces and random props. A few wooden boxes sit in the back corner, near the hallway, as well as some plastic crates. Katya steers Trixie towards them, sets her down on a box and then pulls a crate over to sit at Trixie’s feet. She lets Trixie stare at a spot on the floor behind her head for a while, just squeezes her hands and her knees to let her know that she’s here in the theater and not back in Wisconsin with her alcoholic stepdad.

“Trixie?” It’s been a few minutes, and Trixie’s eyes seem more present.

“Yeah.”

“You’re okay,” Katya says again.

Trixie’s eyes finally leave the spot on the floor and meet Katya’s. “Yeah.” She squeezes Katya’s hand to provide the emphasis that her voice doesn’t give.

“Was it your stepdad?” Katya asks. Trixie nods. “Okay. Do we need to change the scene?”

“No.” Trixie shakes her head, looks at her feet.

“Trixie, we can change the scene if it’ll make you feel safer.”

Trixie swallows. “I don’t feel unsafe. I knew that part was going to happen, I knew Earl goes to hit Jenna. I just wasn’t prepared for it.”

“What can I do to help you through it?” Katya asks, her hands on Trixie’s knees again. She’d do anything to keep Trixie from feeling that way again.

“Just…” Trixie’s brow furrows, her nose scrunches adorably. “Maybe we can practice it slowly a few times. Off stage. Just you, me, and Bob.”

“Okay.”

Trixie shakes her head, makes a noise like a laugh in the back of her throat. “I’ve never been triggered like that.”

“That’s good,” Katya says, smiling. Her fingers stroke over Trixie’s thigh. “That means you haven’t been in scary situations that would trigger you.”

“I guess.” Trixie smiles, though, and it feels like a win for Katya.

Katya hears footsteps approaching from behind, but she keeps her eyes on Trixie. No one else matters right now.

“Hey, Trixie.” It’s Bob. “I, uh, brought you a sandwich and a bottle of water.” He sounds apologetic, apprehensive. Katya looks at him and sees it on his face, the way his cheeks are pulled tight.

Trixie smiles wide. “Thank you, Bob.” She takes the food and the water from him.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Bob says, his voice cracking.

“I am.”

Katya shifts a bit on her crate. She feels out of place, but she won’t let Trixie go.

Bob nods. “Okay. If you need anything, just let me know.”

He gives both Trixie and Katya a smile before going back through the curtain and out into the theater. Katya looks up at Trixie and she can’t help but feel a pain in her cheeks at how big she’s smiling. Trixie looks better — color has returned to her cheeks, and her eyes aren’t glassy.

“Are you okay to go out there, now?” Katya asks. Trixie nods, so Katya gets up from her crate and extends a hand to Trixie. Trixie takes it. “I’ll talk to Bianca for you and explain everything.”

“Thanks, Katya.” She stands, too, and lets Katya lead her onto the stage and down the stairs.

They join the rest of the group, which has congregated in their usual spot in the first two rows of the theater. Trixie stands with Kim and begins chatting with her. Katya can only observe, vaguely comprehending the situation, because Trixie’s hand is still in hers and she’s not letting go, not even caring that they’re with everyone else, or that Bianca is staring at them.

* * *

Trixie doesn’t sleep very well through the night anymore. Her back hurts from singing and acting all day and waiting tables all night. She rolls her ankles, tries to get the strain out of them and her feet. She hasn’t been able to bake at the diner in two weeks because she used to do it in the mornings, so now she’s just doing her least favorite part of the job. It takes everything out of her, but she still can’t get a good night’s sleep.

One morning she snoozes her alarm so many times that, by the time she wakes up, the tone is so shrill it sounds like her phone is annoyed with her. She takes getting up slowly, scrolls through her notifications before sitting up, and it’s then that she notices the time.

“Fuck!”

It’s 9:45, a whole two hours later than she would normally get up. She doesn’t have time to eat and finish her morning sickness, barely even has time to get dressed. She stumbles into the bathroom, washes her face and brushes her teeth with little care to the quality of those things. She can’t leave without makeup on, though — especially not since Katya is going to be there.

Trixie isn’t sure when she started thinking about Katya while getting ready for work.

Makeup done, she throws on a t-shirt and running shorts. Her legs are getting stubbly, and she reminds herself to shave if she ever has the energy. She doesn’t see that happening any time soon. Her work clothes are on the floor, clean and folded, and she picks them up and stuffs them in her pink purse. She checks the time — 10:05 — and runs into the kitchen. She pulls one of many jugs of Gatorade out of her half-empty refrigerator, throws it in her purse, and then contemplates not eating. She’s gone without meals before — but never when she was putting in six hours on stage and another five at the diner.

The fastest thing she can make is a bowl of Cheerios with the last of her milk. She scarfs it down, knowing she’s going to pay for it later. When she’s done, she tosses the empty bowl in the sink. Her hair is still a mess, but it’ll have to do, she doesn’t have any more time to spare. She gets her purse, her phone and keys, and runs out the door.

Trying to drive her car to work is pointless on most days, but especially today, because the LA traffic is always so heavy. The subway station isn’t far from her apartment, so she gets there as fast as she can. It’s not busy — the morning rush has already passed — and she gets in and on a train quickly. The shaking of the subway car churns her stomach. She is _so_ fucked when she gets to the theater.

The air is thick with heat and exhaust, and it makes Trixie dizzy. Cars pass by her on the street, and for a moment she’s jealous — the subway station is at least four blocks from the theater. Her feet already hurt, she has a headache, and she’s not sure how she’s going to make it through a full day of _Waitress_ and waitressing.

When Trixie gets into the theater, it’s strangely quiet. She’s used to walking in the front doors and hearing the shouts and shrieks of Bianca. The lights in the lobby of the theater are off, sunlight streaming through the glass doors and creating an angelic glare. Trixie goes through the lobby and into the house. Everything is still, almost like a wake.

Ben, Kameron, and Asia are halfway down the rows, near the aisle. Trixie joins them, noticing some of the others milling about nearby.

“Hi, Trixie.” Asia’s the first one to see her.

“Hey,” Trixie says when she reaches them. She pulls Asia into a hug and kisses her cheek. “What’s going on? It’s so quiet.” Trixie slings an arm around Kam’s shoulders, thankful for his strong frame to hold her up.

Kam pats her on the head. “Bianca’s late.”

“Later than me?”

They laugh and Kam pokes Trixie’s side. It doesn’t make her stomach feel great.

“Notice that Adore isn’t here, either,” Ben says, shifting his eyes to the side.

“You guys know about that, too?” Trixie asks.

Kam vibrates with laughter, and he moves Trixie’s body with his. “Of course we do.”

“Girl, word travels fast around here.” Asia shakes her head. “I’ve caught them kissing on break. Bianca’s a hard-ass, but it’s so obvious she’s a sucker for Adore.”

Trixie lets go of Kam, her stomach fluttering again. She wonders where Katya is, and is about to ask, when she almost throws up on Ben.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, and she tries to keep her pace slow as she goes to the bathroom near the entrance.

Trixie can’t get the door open fast enough. Her stomach literally growls as she stumbles into a stall, slamming it closed behind her. The first wave hits her and she’s lucky she gets her hair out of the way before she’s puking into the toilet. She takes gasping breaths — this one was particularly bad from the combination of having dairy and the speed at which she ate her breakfast. She’s actually worried she won’t be able to leave the bathroom for the next hour.

“It’s like, I think I know her, and then she throws me off my game.”

The blood drains from Trixie’s face. She doesn’t have to worry about not leaving the bathroom anymore — Adore has just walked in, and she has other things to worry about. First is that Adore is about to find her puking her breakfast; second is figuring out who Adore is with. If it’s Bianca, she’s fucked — and it’s worse if it’s Katya.

Katya _cannot_ know that she’s pregnant. She’ll never be able to live with herself if she loses Katya over this damn baby, too.

There’s no time to react. Another round of mushy Cheerios is coming, and she’s hunched over the toilet again, retching. The voices outside the stall stop.

“Trixie?”

She forgot to lock the stall door.

“Are you okay?” Kim sounds concerned — thank _fuck_ it’s Kim — and she’s already standing over Trixie, taking clumps of her hair and holding them out of the way. “Get some wet paper towels, Adore.”

Trixie throws up a few more times, and Adore presses limp paper towels to the back of her neck. She’s honestly thankful for it, because it does cool her down. When she’s done, she takes a lot of deep breaths. Kim lets her get her head out of the toilet before flushing it. Adore walks with her to the sink, and Trixie doesn’t even look at herself before washing her hands, doesn’t want to see how pale her face is. It’ll just make her throw up again.

“What’s going on?” Adore asks.

Kim joins them at the mirror. “Are you sick? Do you need to go home?”

Trixie squeezes her eyes closed and balls her hands into fists. She’s not sure she’s ever said this out loud. She turns around, leaning her lower back against the counter, and opens her eyes to find Adore and Kim staring at her.

“I’m pregnant.”

Adore gasps. “So you _are_ straight?”

Trixie knows in her mind that this is a somber, scary moment — but she just wants to laugh. She loves Adore.

“I don’t think that’s the moral of the story, Adore,” Kim says.

“It’s complicated.” Trixie actually laughs under her breath, and does again when Adore throws a fist in the air.

“So you’re _not_ straight!” Adore’s smile melts off of her face slowly, comically. “But you are… pregnant.”

Trixie closes her eyes again. “Fuck.”

“How long have you known?” Kim asks. She puts a hand on Trixie’s shoulder, rubs it gently.

“A little over a month. I’m—” Trixie counts the days on her hand. “—eight weeks, I think?” It feels good to talk about. Besides Addie, she doesn’t have anyone else in the city who knows, and Addie doesn’t even bring it up very much. “Please don’t tell Bianca, or anyone. I _need_ this job.”

Kim smiles. “I won’t tell.” She squeezes Trixie’s shoulder, and then they both look at Adore. “You won’t either, right, Adore?”

“Uh…” Adore bites her lip, looks to the side. Trixie gets it, she thinks. It’s a conflict of interest. Adore straightens up, resolute. “I won’t tell Bianca. I promise— as long as you promise to go to lunch with us today and give us the whole story.”

“That’s an easy trade, I guess.” Trixie says, smiling.

The door to the bathroom swings open, and the girls turn to look at it. Katya pokes her head inside, pauses when she sees three sets of wide eyes staring at her.

“Uh, hi?” Katya says.

“Hey.” Adore waves and takes a few steps towards her.

“Bianca’s looking for you guys.” Katya’s gaze darts from Adore, to Trixie, to Kim, always landing back on Trixie. “Whatever’s going on, wrap it up, Mary. Bianca is _pissed_.”

Kim starts for the door, Trixie behind her. “What did you do to her last night, Adore?”

“Nothing!” Trixie, Katya, and Kim fix Adore with looks that say _bullshit_. “Okay, nothing that would explain why she’s pissed. She’s probably just tired.”

“Up late?” Trixie asks.

Katya keeps it going as they leave the bathroom. “Fucking until sunrise?”

“Longer,” Adore says, smirking and walking away.

Bianca is shouting already when they go into the theater. Everything feels back to normal.

* * *

“Spill it, sis.” Adore’s hand is flat on the table, right in front of Trixie, like they’re in an interrogation room and not the Vietnamese restaurant next to the theater. “Who, what, where— all that shit.”

Trixie stares at Kim. “Can we get her a hamster wheel or something?”

“I suggested medicating her, but Bianca said no,” Kim says. She and Trixie share a laugh while Adore rolls her eyes. She just has _too much_ energy.

“Okay, settle down, settle in,” Trixie says, “because this is a journey.” Adore sits up straight and folds her hands in her lap. “So my stepdad is an asshole, right? He and my mom are violently homophobic, transphobic, racist. My brother, sister, and I were under strict rules and had strict expectations.” Trixie takes a deep breath and reaches into the depths of her trauma. “I guess my stepdad became convinced that I was gay. At first, I think it was an excuse for him to just pick on me, but he started to believe it.”

“Cunt,” Adore mutters.

“I didn’t really love men,” Trixie continues, “but I didn’t think I was gay. It didn’t matter if I was, because I couldn’t be when I was in that house. When I went to college, I was a little more go-with-the-flow. I’d never been with a girl, and I didn’t intend on it, but I didn’t feel the weight of God and my stepdad bearing on me. I just didn’t think about it.”

“But are you—”

Kim sighs. “She’s getting there.”

“Sorry,” Adore says.

“That’s okay. Gay or not— being called slurs hurts. I guess it got to the point where some part of me, deep down, knew I wasn’t straight and it finally just boiled over. My stepdad threw a bottle at me and tried to hit me, he called me—” Trixie pauses, chooses her words carefully. “—the d-word. I stormed out and went to my best friend Jared’s house. I just sort of walked in and told him I wanted to have sex. I wanted to prove to myself that I was straight.”

“This might be a stupid question,” Kim says, “but did he use a condom?”

Trixie’s cheeks heat up. “I guess not?”

“What do you mean, ‘I guess not’?” Adore asks, jaw dropped.

“It all happened kind of fast, and I didn’t... look.”

Adore lets out an absolute cackle. “Girl, you are so gay.”

Trixie’s blush deepens. Okay, yeah, Adore is right. It all sounds so pathetic now, how she let things get carried away so quickly. Her high school taught abstinence-only sex education, but she’s not stupid enough not to know better. Well, maybe she is, or was.

“So I don’t like having sex with men, which I guess makes me gay,” Trixie says. She twirls her phone on the tabletop, not wanting to look at either Kim or Adore. “It doesn’t matter now, because I’m fucking pregnant. No one’s going to date me anyway, boy or girl.”

“Come on, people aren’t that shitty. You think Katya wouldn’t date a single mom?” Adore asks.

Trixie’s heart stops, blood rushes through her ears. “Katya?”

“Oh, uh, what?”

“Listen,” Kim says, casting Adore a glare, “you’re— what, twenty? You have a lot of years ahead of you, and you’re going to find someone to be with no matter what.”

Adore nods. “Right.”

“What’s important at this point is you. Are you okay? How are you feeling?” Kim asks.

Trixie wants to cry. It’s been weeks since she found out, and no one has even asked her how she feels, if she’s doing okay. She’s so thankful for her job, for _Waitress_ , for Bianca and Asia and Katya and Adore and Kameron — and especially Kim, because Kim is so smart and level-headed.

Trixie realizes there are tears in her eyes. “I’m fucking scared.” Their food comes, so Trixie shuts up until the waiter sets their plates in front of them and walks away. Trixie smells the steam rising from her pho and it calms her. “You know how some people just have that parental instinct when they’re young? I never had that. I don’t even think I wanted to be a mom when I thought I’d have a choice.”

“But you do have a choice.” Adore digs her fork into her fried rice and looks at Trixie like it’s that simple.

Kim nods. “Have you considered getting an abortion?”

“Not really. I know it’s the smart move, but I just—” Trixie twirls her spoon in the broth. It’s so hard to put into words why she can’t just do the thing she probably should do. “Part of it is just me punishing myself, forcing myself to live with the consequences. The other thing is the guilt— like I’d be taking away someone’s future grandchild, someone’s future partner, literally _someone’s_ child.”

“Does this guy, Jared, know?” Adore asks around a mouthful of food.

Trixie shakes her head. “What if, ten years in the future, he finds out that he might have had a kid and then hates me forever? And another thing—” Trixie takes a sip of her soup, still hot, and cringes around the burn in her mouth. “I’m almost completely alone, now. Maybe I’m scared that, if I get rid of it, I’ll be alone forever.”

Adore and Kim stare at her, eyes wide. A cold tear splashes into her soup.

“Jesus,” Trixie continues, “I’ve never said that out loud. That was really dark.”

Kim clears her throat. “You’re not alone, Trixie. You have us, the rest of the cast, and Katya and Bianca.”

“If you want to get an abortion, no one worth your time will hold it against you,” Adore says. “And if you don’t, no one worth your time will hold that against you, either.”

“Thank you.” Trixie smiles softly.

“Damn. I know I’m, like, three years older than you, but you are so much more mature than me.”

“Everyone’s more mature than you, Adore.” Kim laughs, even as Adore smacks her arm.

Trixie’s phone buzzes on the table. She flips it over so the screen is up and looks at the notification.

 **Katya Zamowadawa:** Tracy, where are u guys?

Trixie laughs. It’s the third time Katya has called her Tracy — ever since she saw that her last name in Trixie’s phone had been changed to _Zamowadawa_.

“Katya’s texting. We should probably head back soon,” Trixie says.

 **Tracy Martel:** At lunch next-door.

Adore leans over the table, trying to see Trixie’s phone screen.

“Have you been texting Katya a lot?” Kim asks, eyebrows raised.

Trixie glares at them. “If you want more secrets from me, you’re going to have to buy me dinner.”

 **Katya Zamowadawa:** Without me? rude.

 **Tracy Martel:** Sorry, you’ll make the list next time.

Kim and Adore have been talking, but Trixie hasn’t really been paying attention. She just nods along.

“Girls night?” Adore squeals.

 **Katya Zamowadawa:** No thx, sounds like a snooze-fest.

Trixie smiles.

 **Tracy Martel:** Bitch!!!

 **Katya Zamowadawa:** I mean, I know Kim and Adore turn the party, but I’m not sure about u…

 **Tracy Martel:** Barbara, my middle name is Party.

 **Katya Zamowadawa:** Oh really?

 **Tracy Martel:** Beatrice Elizabeth-Joanne-Party Martel, at your service :)

 **Katya Zamowadawa:** …

It’s like she can hear Katya’s laugh in her head, loud at first, then devolving into wheezes that ripple through her body.

“Trixie, hey,” Adore says. Trixie vaguely notices her waving in Trixie’s direction. She leans over to Kim and not-so-quietly whispers, “Kim, this is lesbian activity.”

 **Tracy Martel:** Want me to prove it?

When Katya’s next message comes through, Trixie drops her phone on the table — from excitement or anxiety, she doesn’t know. Adore snatches it up before she can grab it, and she squeals when she reads through the messages.

“Oh my _God_ , Trixie’s a slut, look at this!” She shows the phone to Kim, who bursts into laughter.

“Give it back,” Trixie says, lunging at Adore and spilling pho in the process. She grabs the device out of Adore’s hand. “It’s not like that.”

 **Katya Zamowadawa:** When’s your next day off of work?

Kim shakes her head. “Girl, that’s grade-A flirting.”

“It’s not flirting.” Adore and Kim fix her with shit-eating grins and glares to match. “Okay, _she’s_ not flirting. Don’t make it a thing. I don’t want it to be a thing.”

Trixie pulls up the calendar on her phone, checks her work schedule.

“Fine, it’s not a thing,” Adore says.

 **Tracy Martel:** I have Friday and Saturday off this weekend.

Trixie puts her phone down. They’ve been at lunch too long, and if they don’t hurry up, Bianca will be fuming for the second time that day. She starts scooping up her pho — thankfully it’s cooled down — when Kim’s phone buzzes, then Adore’s.

Adore reads her message first. “Fuck yeah!”

“What?” Trixie’s phone buzzes just as she asks, but she continues eating.

Kim smiles and locks her phone. “Katya’s having a party on Friday.”

Of course Katya’s having a party. _In her honor_. Trixie smiles — she really will have to prove herself this weekend. Her heart flutters at the thought of having to impress not only Katya, but the whole group. She picks up her phone, looking at the details of the party that Katya sent, and then the message after them.

 **Katya Zamowadawa:** You talk a big game, Trix. Don’t let me down ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a little short, but it's early so it makes up for it

Trixie is sweating under the harsh stage lights and from the exertion of learning the choreography for the final song. It’s not _hard_ , per se, but she really can’t move her body that well. Dancing to her is usually smiling, waving her arms, and stepping to the beat.

Katya has been trying to work them through the song, and it’s been an interesting journey. Apparently she had the whole thing prepared, all blocked out in her mind, and then she saw what the cast could do and half of it went out the window. Cal has become an integral part of the number — due to Kennedy’s dance skills, but even he is struggling to pick up the choreography — and Adore is mainly just prancing around the stage.

The music picks up again, and Trixie realizes she hasn’t been paying much attention. The pie prop that she’s been holding all day almost falls out of her hand when she tries to join in the dancing again. She runs into Asia while making her pass around the “diner” and then misses her cue to sing.

“Stop, stop!” Katya yells over the music. She shakes her head and looks over all of them, literally trying to figure out where to start with her critiques. “We have three weeks until opening, people. You all need to match the pace. When the music starts, you have to be ready to go. Trixie—”

Trixie steps forward and nods. “Yeah?”

“You take a few steps and then spin, and stay out of Asia’s way. I can tell you’re not paying attention. Keep up.” Katya barely spares her a glance before moving on to the next person she needs to correct.

Trixie has never seen Katya like this. Sure, Katya has been directing firsthand for a few days now, but each time she’s gotten more serious. It’s like Trixie forgot that Katya’s job was to direct the musical and not make her smile every time she messed up during rehearsal. Trixie feels so stupid for getting a little disappointed each time Katya corrects her — it’s her _job_ , and she’s really good at it. Trixie just misses Katya’s vibrant smile, the way her blue eyes are so animated when she talks, how her hand feels on Trixie’s waist, her shoulder, in her own palm.

She’s stopped trying to pretend that she’s not interested in Katya, at least to Adore and Kim, and she’s on the way to ending the ruse with herself. She wants to know what it feels like to have Katya’s arms wrapped around her, her face nuzzled in Katya’s neck, her lips on Katya’s lips, Katya’s hands all over her. She wants to know what it feels like to be loved by Katya.

But there’s just one thing that she can’t say — something that’s getting bigger every day. Trixie doesn’t know what she’s going to do when she can’t hide it anymore, but that day is coming soon, and she’s not sure it’s worth trying to squeeze in a short _something_ with Katya when she’ll end up losing her and will probably hurt her in the process.

“Trixie!” Katya yells over the intro music, and Trixie realizes that she hasn’t been paying attention, again.

They run through the song once more. By the end of it, Katya just shakes her head and walks away. Trixie feels gutted. She has completely let Katya down, totally disregarded everything she said because she was being stupid and selfish. That’s the other thing — does Katya even want her? An idiotic, desperate twenty-year-old from the backwoods, a kid that literally works for her on a daily basis.

Trixie wants to jump off of the stage and apologize to Katya, but Bianca takes over for the last ten minutes of rehearsal and has them finish the show, bad dancing and all. She snaps directions at them, gets them to actually focus. Katya’s in the back of the theater, but she’s on her phone. She’s not even watching them.

“You all better practice at home,” Bianca says, effectively ending rehearsal. Trixie feels like she’s in her middle school musical again and their music teacher is trying to wrangle them into a semi-presentable production.

Trixie gets her bag together in the first row with the others, and just when she finishes, Adore hip-checks her.

“Ready for the party?” she asks.

Trixie completely forgot about it, and now she’s worried that Katya’s mad at her and it’s going to be awful. “Uh, sure.” She looks at the back of the theater nervously, where Katya’s still sitting.

Asia follows her sightline. “Shake it off, Trix. She’s not actually mad at you.”

“I was so stupid.”

“Everyone has bad days at work,” Asia says. “Katya’s a professional, she knows you’re not going to be perfect all the time. It’s her job to try and get you to be at your maximum, whether that’s a thirty or a one-hundred.”

Adore nods. “I mean, Bianca yells at me all the time for being an idiot, but I still get to fuck her senseless.”

Trixie hears an animated sigh. “ _Adore_!”

“Sorry, was I supposed to pretend that you’re not a needy bottom?” Adore calls back, turning to look at Bianca across the theater.

“Why do we still pretend that you two are a secret?” Trixie asks as she bites back a laugh.

Kim joins in from the next row over. “Better yet, why do you two still pretend that you’re not in love with each other?”

“That’s a fantastic question, Kimberly,” Bianca says. She shoots a glare at Adore, and Adore turns her own glare on Kim.

“Okay.” Kim purses her lips and slowly backs out of the row. “I see I’ve hit a sore spot. I’m gonna go now.”

Asia laughs. “Come on, y’all. Let’s just relax and have a party.”

“Party,” Adore repeats, but it’s without the attitude that she normally inflects it with.

They take their stuff and leave the first rows, heading towards the back of the theater. Katya’s still there, and they begin to gather around her, waiting for the party game-plan. When Katya realizes this, she gets up from her seat and meets them.

“Uh, so I don’t have alcohol at my place,” Katya says, “but I can run to the liquor store on the way. Requests?”

“Tito’s.”

“Beer.”

“Whiteclaws.”

“Ew, are you a white girl, Kim?” Adore asks. Kim pokes her forehead.

Katya nods, taking notes in her phone. “Gotcha. Everyone meet there when you’re ready.”

The crowd begins to disperse, Asia, Kim and Kennedy leaving together, Ben linking up with Bob and Kam. Then, there’s just Bianca, Adore, Trixie, and Katya.

Adore taps Trixie on the arm. “Are you riding with us, Trix?” Her eyes are pleading, and Trixie wants to help her, but she drove her own car. Besides, she and Bianca need to have a conversation, it seems.

“My car’s here, but thanks.” Trixie turns to Katya and bites her lip. “I can take you to the liquor store, Kat.”

Katya smiles. “Thanks. I just need someone to open the apartment for everyone.” She pulls her keys out of her pocket and looks at Bianca. “B?”

Bianca sighs, takes the keys as she passes Katya. “You better get some tequila for me, bitch.”

She starts heading for the door, but when Adore doesn’t follow her, she turns around. Adore stays in place. They stare each other down for a minute, and then Adore trudges between Trixie and Katya and leaves with Bianca. Trixie and Katya meet eyes, exhaling at the same time.

“Thank God you drove. That car is a fucking bomb waiting to go off,” Katya says.

Trixie nods. “I hope they work things out, though.”

“Me too. They both deserve to get their shit together and be happy.” They look at each other for a moment, neither moving or saying anything. Trixie is just focused on keeping her mind from moving in eight different directions. “So, uh, where are you parked?”

“Right.” Trixie realizes that they’ve been standing there for a little bit, and she shifts her purse on her shoulder and starts walking to the theater lobby. Katya follows her. She got a prime spot that morning, thankfully, so her car is mere steps from the theater doors. She dodges traffic to get to the driver’s side, then climbs in.

Katya gets in a second later, shifting a few bills and letters that Trixie has left on the seat. Trixie awkwardly reaches for them at the same time, and her hand just barely grazes Katya’s ass — she’s in jeans today, so Trixie hopes that she didn’t feel it through the thick material. Once they’re situated, Trixie starts the truck and pulls out of the parallel space.

“Turn left at this light,” Katya says, pointing as she does.

They drive for a little like that, Katya directing her every so often. Trixie bites the inside of her cheek. She hasn’t forgotten how bad rehearsal was, and she’s sure Katya hasn’t, either.

“I’m sorry I did so bad today.” Trixie spares a short glance to Katya before looking back at the road.

“It’s no big deal, Trix.” Katya looks directly at her, pokes her cheek. “I promise. I’m not mad, seriously. I’m not your teacher.” She continues to poke Trixie, and though she’s pulling Trixie’s focus away from the road, Trixie smiles. “There it is, there’s that million-dollar smile.”

Trixie scoffs. “I wish this smile were worth a million dollars. Wisconsin chic doesn’t look so cute in LA.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your smile.”

“Says the former drug addict with blue-white teeth.” Trixie rolls her eyes, but then she realizes what she just said. She’s in the middle of merging into traffic, so she can’t look at Katya’s reaction. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay. I’m very self aware,” Katya says.

“Still—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Trixie. The liquor store is on the right, just past the pizza place.” Katya points to it, and Trixie follows her direction and pulls into the parking lot. Katya unbuckles her seatbelt and it snaps against the side of the car. “I’ll be right back. Don’t get stolen.” She winks and then slips out of the car.

Trixie watches her walk across the front of the store. The sun is beginning its descent towards the hills, and it casts a deep golden glow that shines off of Katya’s blonde hair. Katya opens the door to the liquor store. Trixie can still see her when she goes inside — the windows are big and the store is lit by harsh LEDs. Katya goes down one aisle, disappears for a moment, and then returns to view with a basket full of tequila and vodka. Then she goes to the beer section and gets a few packs, as well as some Whiteclaw.

Katya comes back after another few minutes in the store, a salesperson carrying some of her haul in tow. They load the alcohol into the bed of Trixie’s truck before Katya climbs in the passenger seat.

“Ready?” Trixie asks. Katya nods, and she puts Katya’s address into Maps as she pulls out of the parking lot.

The store isn’t very far from Katya’s place, and Trixie is paralleling into a space in minutes. Bob, Ben, and Kameron are just walking into the building, too, so they grab some of the alcohol from Trixie’s truck while Trixie takes the bags of snacks that Ben was carrying. Katya holds the door open for everyone.

Katya’s building is old, but it has an elevator, which Trixie is thankful for despite how creaky it is. They go to the fifth floor and step out, walk past the few doors until they reach Katya’s apartment. The door is unlocked, and Katya once again holds it open for everyone. Inside, Bianca is standing before Katya’s fridge, rooting around for food; Kim is sitting on the island; Asia and Adore are tapping out a beat on Katya’s furniture, and Kennedy is kicking and twirling along.

“The fuck is going on in here?” Katya yells over the beat of Asia and Adore. “You guys better not break that coffee table.”

Trixie passes everyone and puts the snacks down on the kitchen counter. She opens the cabinets, finds some clean bowls, and starts filling them with chips and pretzels. The boys bring the alcohol to the island, and Trixie starts taking glasses down, as well. This is only her second time at Katya’s apartment, but she’s very good at making herself feel at home in a space — and Katya’s space already feels like home, in a way.

“We couldn’t find your speaker,” Adore says, shrugging. Kennedy finally finishes his dance, so Asia and Adore stop pounding on the table.

“It’s in the cabinet under the TV, idiot.” Katya opens said-cabinet and pulls out a Beats Pill. Adore clamors for it before Katya has the chance to turn it on, and she takes it, phone already out to play music.

Bianca leaves the fridge and steals a bowl of popcorn that Trixie has just put out near the drinks. “Thank God for alcohol. Can someone make me a drink, please?” Her request falls on deaf ears — well, Trixie is listening, but she pretends like she isn’t. “Zamo, get your hostess-ass over here and make me a drink. I know you still remember how.”

Katya laughs and goes to the kitchen. She stands next to Trixie, who’s still making the snack bowls, and reaches over her to get a margarita glass. Her chest presses near Trixie’s face, and it’s all Trixie can do to not stare down Katya’s low-cut black top.

“Grab me the lime juice, B,” Katya says.

“Why do you still have that stuff?” Bianca leans into the fridge again and pulls it out.

Katya takes it and puts it down on the counter. “For moments such as these.”

The boys, Asia, and Kim crowd around the island, picking at beers and snacks. Most of them leave, but Kim stays on the counter. Adore’s rock music is blasting from across the room, so the only quiet space seems to be the kitchen counter, where Katya, Bianca, and Trixie are tucked.

“How was the ride over?” Katya asks innocently, her eyes focused on making Bianca’s cocktail.

Trixie has long-since finished the snack bowls, but she wants to listen, so she busies herself with pulling some bottles of water out of Katya’s fridge. She takes one and passes it to Katya, who nods at her in thanks.

Bianca isn’t giving anything away when she says, “Fine. Yours?”

Katya opens her mouth to chide Bianca, probably to pull the whole truth from her, when Adore runs full-speed across the room — it’s a wonder she hasn’t had anything to drink, yet. She skids on socked feet and crashes into Bianca, nearly knocking the drink Katya’s made her on the floor. She wraps her arms around Bianca’s waist, leans her whole body in, and smiles up at Katya.

Katya raises an eyebrow. “Just fine, you said?”

Bianca responds with a glare, but her arm snakes around Adore’s waist and holds on tightly.

“Could you make me a margarita too, Kat?” Adore asks.

“Are you sure you want to go down that road again, angel?” Bianca nudges her with her hip, tucks a piece of hair out of her face. “You didn’t love puking the last time you had tequila.”

Trixie thinks Adore is going to scoff at Bianca’s protectiveness, as usual, but she just nods. “You’re right.” She kisses Bianca’s cheek and goes to the island, taking a beer from the case at Kim’s hip.

Katya’s eyes are so wide they look like they’re going to fall out of her skull. Trixie thinks that she probably looks the same, and Kim whips her head around to stare at Bianca. Bianca shrugs at them.

“She’s not an idiot.”

Bianca goes to the island and picks at a chip, Adore tucking into her side again. Katya takes her bottle of water and goes to the island, as well, and Trixie follows.

“What about you, Kim?” Katya asks. “Do you want a screwdriver?”

Kim shakes her head. “I’m good with my Whiteclaw.”

“Trixie?” Katya points at her and then gestures to the alcohol on the island.

Trixie opens her mouth, about to ask for a shot of vodka and a cocktail, but she remembers that she can’t. “No, thanks.”

“Come on, Trix, we’re not in public. You can drink underage,” Katya says.

“I’m fine, seriously.” Trixie really wants to drink; she’s craving it, honestly, and it’s killing her to be around everyone else drinking. Add in her nerves about the party, and — well, she’s not an alcoholic, but she’s sure this is sort of what it feels like.

“Don’t be boring, kid.” Bianca smirks at her. “You were in college, what, three months ago? You were probably getting hammered at frat parties every week.”

Kim turns around and notices the discomfort on Trixie’s face. “She said no, let her be.”

“Who are you, the Peer Pressure Police?” Bianca says, and Katya laughs loudly. Adore looks at the ground, sips on her beer.

“Really?” Kim stares at both of them.

Katya looks between Kim and Trixie, her face twisting with confusion. “Okay, okay, sorry, Officer Chi.”

“Willow, let’s go dance,” Adore says, tugging on Bianca.

“What are you— I don’t dance!”

“Now, you do.” They join the others near the sofa, voices drowning into the music.

Trixie looks up at Kim and sends her a thankful smile. She hops onto the counter next to her. Katya stands by and looks around, and Trixie thinks that she seems out of place in her own home. She wonders how much the alcohol is affecting her, or if she’s nervous that it is going to affect her.

Trixie leans over Kim. “Katya, do you have a deck of cards?”

“Uh, I think so. Why?”

“Do you want to play strip poker?” Kim asks, laughing. She nudges Trixie’s shoulder with her own. Trixie keeps her face straight, and Kim’s eyes go wide. “You’re serious?”

Trixie laughs so loudly that Kim leans away. “No, I want to play Kings Cup.”

“What’s Kings Cup?” Katya asks. She goes through a drawer at the island, digging around bills, receipts, recipes. She finally pulls out a pack of cards and hands them to Trixie.

“Wow, you’re old,” Trixie says.

Katya glares at her. “I’m twenty-seven, fuck you.”

Trixie gets off of the counter, pulling Kim with her. She goes to the sofa, shoves Katya’s decorative books off of the coffee table, and spreads the cards out in a circle. “Adore, turn the music down,” she shouts over the rap song currently playing. “Gather ‘round, kids, and get some refills. It’s time for a drinking game.”

* * *

If Trixie’s plan is to destroy Katya’s apartment by way of drunk people, she’s succeeding. One of Katya’s Matryoshka dolls is shattered, there are crushed snacks in between her couch cushions, and she’s sure she’s going to need a new rug if she doesn’t want her apartment to permanently smell like vodka — she’s Russian, but she’s not _that_ Russian.

Whoever came up with this game was an alcoholic, Katya is convinced. She’s not even drinking alcohol, but she knows that she’d be puking by now if she were. Literally everyone in the room is fucked up except Trixie, Katya, and Bianca, who decided to switch to water to be able to drive home.

Ben pulls a six and yells, “Chicks!” The girls drink. Katya is thankful that he didn’t pull five — guys — because he can barely say his own name, and it’s only one syllable.

Kennedy is next, and he takes a Jack from the circle of cards. It’s “never have I ever”, everyone’s most-and-least favorite party game. That’s the really great part about King’s Cup — not only does it force at least one person to drink at every turn, consequently getting everyone drunk as quickly as possible, but it also allows for the juicy secrets to come out. Everyone puts up three fingers in preparation for the game.

“Okay,” Kennedy says slowly, “never have I ever slept with a coworker.”

Bianca and Adore giggle — yes, Bianca _giggles_ — as they put their fingers down. Bob, Katya, Kim, and Kameron put theirs down as well.

Trixie is to Kennedy’s left, which means it’s her turn to say a never. She pulls her lips to the side in thought, a mischievous smile fighting onto her face. “Never have I ever kissed a girl.”

Literally everyone but Kim, Ben, and Trixie put their fingers down.

“Not fair,” Adore whines.

“Hey, it’s the truth.” Trixie raises her eyebrows, and Katya swears that she looks at her from the corner of her eye.

Katya’s next, and she looks around the circle to see if she can cheat someone into losing. She knows enough about Bianca and Adore to get them out quickly, but it’s too easy.

“Never have I ever had a child,” Katya says. Beside her, Trixie chokes on a gulp of water she was drinking, and the sound pierces through the room even as Adore’s music plays through the speaker.

Bob puts his finger down. “Damnit, Katya.”

“I didn’t know you had a kid, Bob,” Kim says, her eyes darting from Trixie to Katya, then finally to Bob.

“Yeah, I have a son.” Bob takes a swig of beer. “He lives with his mom in Georgia. We divorced two years ago.”

It’s Trixie’s turn to pick from the circle. She takes a card and turns it over. “King. Hm…” She looks around the circle, eyes narrowed, scrutinizing everyone and looking for a weakness. “New rule is that whoever swears has to drink — or if you’re not drinking, you have to remove an article of clothing each time you swear.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t strip poker, Trix.” Kim laughs and clutches her Whiteclaw tightly.

Katya leans forward and scans the circle, looking for the card that speaks to her. She takes one from a clump at the far end of the spread and looks at it.

“Ten— categories.” She thinks for a minute. “Cars.”

“Already did it,” Kameron says.

“Major cities of the world?” The group nods, so Katya starts. “Boston.”

Bianca is next. “New Orleans.”

“Los Angeles,” Adore yells over her fifth beer.

“Dallas!”

“Damn,” Kennedy says, and when he realizes, he takes a drink.

Kim is after Asia. “Seoul.”

“New York.”

“London.”

“Paris.”

“Tokyo.”

“Come through, Hilary Duff,” Trixie says. “Delhi.”

It’s Katya’s turn, but she’s laughing so hard from Trixie’s dumb joke that she can’t breathe. _Fucking Hilary Duff_. She smacks her leg and grips Trixie’s shoulder to try and get herself to stop.

“That’s time,” Asia says, “I call hesitation.”

Katya’s laughs finally subside. “What?”

“You hesitated, which means you lose,” Kim explains, and she can’t keep the smile from her face.

“трахни меня.”

Trixie leans closer to her. “What was that?”

“Uh.” Katya clears her throat. “I said, ‘that sucks.’”

“Bullshit, I’ve heard you swear in Russian before,” Bianca says.

“Well, you just swore, too.” Katya’s stalling. She looks down at Trixie, who’s staring into her bottle of water. Katya can see a blush on her neck where her blonde hair parts.

Bianca starts pulling off her black jacket. “Come on, Kat. Strip.”

Katya doesn’t have a jacket, unfortunately. It’s either her jeans or her shirt, and she’s not really in the mood to take off her pants. She pulls off her shirt, and then she’s just there, sitting on the sofa between Trixie and Bianca in a grey lace bra. The room erupts in cheers and laughter.

Beside her, Trixie’s face goes red. Katya’s bare shoulder bumps against Trixie’s and it makes Katya’s skin even warmer every time. She’s never been ashamed about her body, but she suddenly has the urge to cross her arms over her chest. She’s not sure how she feels sitting half-naked next to Trixie; she’s wanted to be half-naked, or even more naked, with Trixie for a while, but not like this.

Bianca’s turn is next, and she pulls out a Queen. “What does this mean again?”

“Question Master,” Trixie says. “We each get to ask you a question, starting with Adore.”

Adore, who has been leaning on Bianca, sits up and starts _bouncing_ on the cushion next to her. It shakes the whole sofa, shoving Katya into Trixie, and — wow, Trixie’s breath is on her neck and the sides of their breasts are rubbing together, and Katya’s pissed she chose to wear this bra today because her nipple is starting to poke through the lace.

“Bianca Del Rio.” Adore’s face is serious, now, and she’s facing Bianca, looking into her eyes like there’s no one else in the room. She takes a deep, solemn breath. _Is this a proposal?_ “How many people have you slept with?”

Bianca rolls her eyes. “Twenty-eight. Someone ask me something hard-hitting.”

“Do you really not speak Spanish,” Asia starts, “or are you just pretending?”

“Sí, puta sucia,” Bianca says, and Adore laughs loudly beside her. “My mom used to yell at me in Spanish, so I know it, but not well.”

“Do you regret leaving New York?” Katya asks suddenly, even though it’s not her turn. The group falls silent.

Bianca looks at Adore, who has returned to her spot half-on Bianca’s lap. “Yes and no.” She doesn’t elaborate. “Next question?”

Kim jumps in quickly. “Are you and Adore officially dating, now?”

Adore just squeals and pushes herself into a sitting position, still draped on Bianca. She pulls her into a kiss, and the group lets out _oohs._ There’s their answer. Bianca and Adore kiss for some time, and although Katya isn’t the best angle to see, she hears Bianca’s small gasp when Adore deepens the kiss.

God, she really is a needy bottom.

They end the kiss, but are still distracted with each other, Bianca pressing small kisses to Adore’s face, so Asia takes her card, and the game continues. When they’ve pulled almost all of the cards, the game sort of devolves — Bianca and Adore are making out in the kitchen, Ben is sleeping on Kameron, and Kim and Asia are falling into hysterical laughter at practically nothing. Trixie goes around the room and starts picking up empty beer bottles and dumps out half-finished glasses in the sink. Katya’s thankful for it, because she’s exhausted. Her shirt is still off, and she’s laying on the sofa, taking up the whole thing.

Trixie finishes in the kitchen and goes to the sofa. She stands above Katya and looks down at her, and Katya smiles, feeling gravity pull on her face. Trixie is exquisite, she thinks, and it must be true, since she’s not even drunk.

“Bianca and Adore are about to fuck in your kitchen.”

Katya’s face scrunches in disgust. “Ew, get them out of here.”

Trixie nods, and she goes to the speaker by the TV, turns it off. Everyone in the room looks at her. “Sorry, guys. I have a headache.” They all grumble, but Katya smiles. She’s not sure when Trixie became the hostess of this party.

“It’s probably time we get going, actually,” Asia says, standing and pulling Kim with her. She can hold her alcohol well, so she starts picking up the boys, too, and drags them all towards the door. They stumble along — Bob can barely get the door open.

“Bianca,” Katya calls from the sofa, “you’re sober. Help them get home.”

Bianca grumbles, but she pulls Adore with her, who snags a bottle of beer as they go. Everyone makes their way towards the door and pushes out into the hallway.

“Thank you, Katya!” Adore shouts, and they all yell in agreement. Trixie closes the door behind them.

For the first time in hours, the apartment is silent. Katya’s thankful — she was _actually_ starting to get a headache. The room smells like a gross combination of beer and vodka, and it almost transports her to when she was in college, on a three-day meth and alcohol bender. Her fingers start itching, and she realizes she hasn’t had a cigarette in a long time, too long for her liking.

Trixie is cleaning up more of the snacks and empty glasses that their friends left. She wants to tell her to stop, but right now she doesn’t trust herself to clean up the alcohol without drinking it. She needs to get herself out of that room quickly.

“Hey, I’m gonna go smoke,” she says, getting off of the sofa. “Could you just, uh, make sure all the alcohol is gone by the time I get back?”

Trixie nods, and Katya goes to the window. She hears Trixie picking up glasses from the coffee table behind her. “Katya?” Katya turns around, and Trixie holds up her shirt. “You might want to put this on first.”

“Right.”

Trixie tosses her the shirt, and she pulls it over her head before pulling up the window pane and maneuvering her way outside. Her flexibility helps, and in a minute she’s on the fire escape. She sits on the outside of the windowsill and props her feet up on the metal bars across from her so she’s practically hovering.

Katya smokes her first cigarette and looks around. She lives in a pretty quiet part of the city, near a few restaurants and a grocery store, some other apartments. There’s a weed dispensary on the corner, and normally she’s pretty good at ignoring it, but the neon sign is mocking her right now. That’s not an avenue that she wants to go down, really — she thought she could handle weed again when she first moved to LA, but it quickly lead to a psychosis that destroyed her relationship and almost set her on a course back to meth. No more _laganja estranga_ for her, mama.

The air conditioning cools Katya’s back as sweat pools between her breasts from the night’s heat. On the other side of the window, Katya hears Trixie pull out a chair from the table nearby.

“The party was fun,” Trixie says. “Did I live up to my name?”

Katya gets down from the windowsill and crouches so she can talk through the opening. “You surely did, Miss Party Martel.”

“I tried my best.” Trixie yawns and just barely covers her mouth with her hand.

“I’m going to have to get a new rug, and probably a new sofa, thanks to you.” Katya laughs and takes another drag, blowing the smoke away from the apartment. Her bangs are starting to stick to her forehead.

“Sorry, Kings is just my favorite drinking game, even when I’m sober.”

Katya nods. “It was very fun.” Trixie yawns again, this time bigger. “You look exhausted, Trix.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long week,” Trixie says. She looks like she’s about to get up from the table, and Katya’s heart pulls.

Katya doesn’t want to be alone. She can’t be alone, now, and she really doesn’t want to be without Trixie.

“You can stay here tonight, if you want.”

Trixie shakes her head. “No, I don’t want to bother you anymore.”

“You’re not bothering me. I’m serious, you can stay.” Katya stares at her, eyes wide. She doesn’t want to tell Trixie that she’s weak, that recently she’s been fighting with herself to just get through the days until she feels stable again. “Please stay.”

“Okay.” Trixie nods, and her smile is knowing.

“I have some t-shirts and shorts you can borrow. I’ll finish smoking and be right in,” Katya says. She takes another drag as Trixie gets up from the table and leaves. A car down the street honks loudly. Katya wonders what time it is, figures it’s not too late even though it feels like the early hours of the morning.

She’s on her second cigarette when she hears the water running in her apartment — likely Trixie washing her face with one of Katya’s face soaps, using Katya’s mouthwash. Tomorrow, Katya will pull out one of the extra, unused toothbrushes she keeps in her apartment for her non-existent overnight guests and give it to Trixie. She tries not to think about the fact that it’ll become _Trixie’s_ toothbrush, that Trixie will have something to permanently fix her to the apartment.

Katya considers smoking a third cigarette, but it’s too hot outside and she doesn’t want to shower before bed. She climbs through the window and shuts it, locks it. She puts her cigarettes on the dining table and fills a glass of water before going into her bedroom. Trixie is in her bed, laying diagonally between Katya’s usual spot and the space beside her, her phone plugged into Katya’s charger.

Trixie doesn’t say anything, just continues scrolling on her phone. Katya puts her glass of water on her nightstand and takes her pajamas off of her vanity. She goes into the attached bathroom and shuts the door.

Putting on her pajamas and washing her face doesn’t take long, so Katya only has a few minutes to get her breathing under control before she goes back into the bedroom. She’s not sure if she’s supposed to offer to sleep on the sofa or if she should just get in bed; maybe she should put pillows and blankets on the floor and suffer through the night there. It always amazes her how Trixie just seems to know what to do in her apartment more than Katya does when they’re together.

Katya puts on some deodorant in case she’s still sweaty and tosses her clothes in her hamper. When she leaves the bathroom, Trixie is sitting up, her back against Katya’s headboard. Her phone is still plugged in, but it’s now on Katya’s nightstand. Katya pauses in the doorway.

Trixie’s hands are folded in her lap, hidden by her knees as they are pulled against her chest. One hand appears, though, and it pats the space beside Trixie — literally Katya’s side of the bed. Her room very suddenly feels like it’s Trixie’s instead of her own.

Katya smiles as she crosses the room and sits on the mattress. She stretches out on the memory foam, fluffs her pillow, and Trixie does the same. “Light off?” Katya asks, and when Trixie nods, she leans over and turns the dial on the lamp. The room is drenched in darkness.

Trixie shifts around a bit. She backs away from Katya, then moves closer to her, sometimes pulling the blankets with her. She’s not really sure what Trixie is doing, supposes she’s trying to get comfortable without bothering her, but she’s doing an awful job. Trixie finally settles, but she hears her open and close her mouth a few times.

“Katya?” Trixie says finally, quietly. Her face is near Katya’s back, breaths puffing on Katya’s neck. Katya turns over halfway.

“What’s up?”

“You’re not okay, are you?”

Katya lets out a long breath. She runs her hand over her face, scratches lightly at her hairline. “No, not tonight.”

“Is it because of the party?” Trixie lays on her stomach and props her head on her hand. She’s above Katya, looking down at her with wide eyes, and Katya thinks she looks younger than she ever has.

“I think so,” Katya says, nodding, “yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” Trixie’s eyes glisten in the streetlamp-light that filters in through Katya’s blinds.

Katya puts her hand on Trixie’s cheek and rubs away the first tear that falls. “Hey, it’s okay. This has nothing to do with you.”

“I know,” Trixie says. “It’s so stupid. I wish you didn’t have to feel like this, I wish nothing were hard for you. You’re so good, Katya, and you deserve to be healthy and feel good and strong.”

Katya’s throat is thick with tears, but not because she’s sad. If she tries to speak now, she knows she’ll start crying, and that won’t help anything. She clears her throat and squeezes her fingers into Trixie’s cheek. Hot tears fall over her thumb and drip onto the sheet between them.

“No one’s cried over me before.” Katya laughs thickly. “At least, not this way. Not in a good way.”

Trixie laughs, too, and she moves her arm so she’s laying on the mattress, now. Katya wraps her arm around Trixie’s waist and pulls her closer. She’s half-draped over Trixie’s back, and Trixie’s nose is pressing into her collarbone.

“Tell me about it?” Trixie’s voice vibrates through her chest.

Katya nods, chin rubbing over Trixie’s scalp. “Uh, I used to be really quiet and awkward.”

“You? Quiet?”

“I was! I was scared of talking to people and I was low energy, but I really liked performing,” Katya says. She runs her fingers through Trixie’s hair slowly, parting the strands and then gathering them again. “I tried a lot of different drugs when I was a kid, and I mostly just liked things that made me happy and energetic. They made me feel like I could relax and be a normal person.”

Trixie lets out a breath, her shoulders sinking with each stroke of Katya’s fingers. “What did you do?”

“Meth. Weed. I liked speed because I could get my shit done without the euphoria. Sleeping always felt like an inconvenience, and when I was on drugs I didn’t really need to sleep.” Katya feels Trixie absorbing the information. She nods against Katya’s chest slowly. “You know what the worst part is?”

Trixie moves back a few inches so she can see Katya’s face, but she doesn’t go far. Katya’s arm stays tight around her waist. “What’s that?”

“It’s so fucking exhausting. People always call it the road to recovery, but recovery isn’t a destination, it’s the road itself, and I’m going to be riding on it for the rest of my life.”

Trixie runs her finger over Katya’s shoulder, traces her collarbone, drags her fingers to Katya’s face. She doesn’t say anything — she doesn’t need to. Both she and Trixie know there’s nothing Trixie can say to make it better, to take Katya’s pain away, to promise that Katya won’t struggle like this for the rest of her life. All she needs right now is Trixie’s eyes, the tingle of her skin running over Katya’s cheekbones, and her lips just inches away — all of which she has.

She wants to kiss Trixie. She probably could, too, and she thinks Trixie wouldn’t recoil. Trixie is studying the lines of her face with her eyes and the pads of her fingers. Yeah, she could kiss Trixie, and Trixie could kiss her back; but what happens tomorrow, or the next day?

Trixie is growing every day, Katya can see it. She sees the way Trixie is becoming comfortable with the cast, learning to be herself in the way that she wants to instead of the way she’s supposed to. It’s beautiful to watch. She can’t interrupt that, not when it’s too early, and not for selfish reasons.

Trixie deserves to find herself more than Katya deserves Trixie.

Instead of kissing her lips, Katya kisses her forehead, pulls her close. “You are something special, Trixie Mattel, and you don’t even realize it.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh, yes.” Katya kisses her hair. “You are the most special person I’ve ever met, and I can’t wait until you realize who you really are.”

They fall asleep together, Katya’s arms around Trixie, Trixie’s breath tickling Katya’s chest through the night. In the morning, Katya gives Trixie a toothbrush; after she uses it, Trixie puts it in the little cup on the sink, right next to Katya’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that Hilary Duff "joke" came from deep within my soul


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I promised myself that I was going to update weekly and no more frequently than that, but I'm so excited about the election that I wanted to share some more happiness

“So, have you told Katya you’re gay for her yet?”

Trixie rolls her eyes at Adore and shoves her. Adore almost tumbles into a man walking on the sidewalk, and he grumbles as he passes them. She shoves Trixie right back, this time without incident.

“No, I haven’t told Katya that I have feelings about her that I may or may not want to explore,” Trixie says.

Adore laughs. “But you slept with her, right?”

Trixie hasn’t told anyone much of anything about the events after the party last week, but Adore learned through Bianca, who learned through Katya, that Trixie stayed the night. She’s not ashamed — by any of this, really. It’s a wonder that she isn’t, since she spent almost her entire life swallowing down doubts about her sexuality, questions about herself she wouldn’t answer, ideas that she couldn’t act on. After getting to LA, meeting Katya, and finally letting herself acknowledge that, _yes_ , she’s attracted to women, it’s been a surprisingly easy transition.

“I didn’t _sleep_ with her, sleep with her.”

“Well, yeah, I know that.” Adore shrugs and shifts Bianca’s takeout from one hand to the other. “Just sleeping with her is worse than just fucking her.”

Trixie shakes her head. “It’s not. We’re friends. I’ve slept in bed with friends before.”

“Have you ever been in love with those friends?” Adore asks, and before Trixie can respond, she jumps in. “And I mean, like, you actually acknowledged you were in love with them, not repressed crushes.”

“Well…” Trixie’s stomach flutters, because she knows Adore has a point and it makes her nervous. She’s nervous that she’s doing the wrong thing, that she’s going to hurt Katya by leading her on and then will lose her in a few months. “What about you and Bianca? Didn’t you sleep with her?”

“Not for a long time. The problem with sleeping with people is that you start to like it too much, and then you’ve suddenly moved in with them after a week. That doesn’t really work for casual stuff.” They reach the theater, and Adore tugs the door open and lets Trixie walk through. “Or, in your case, it makes it hard to deny your feelings — which is good, except you’re a baby gay with no experience, Katya’s a drug addict who’s been afraid of intimacy since her last relationship, and neither of you are being very communicative right now. Recipe for disaster.”

Bianca is only a few rows into the house and is reading through her notes. She hears them coming but doesn’t look up. “Recipe for disaster— are you talking about Trixie and Katya?” When they get to her, she finally faces them and fixes Trixie with a pointed stare.

“You two aren’t really helping me with my self-doubt,” Trixie says.

She’s thankful that no one else is around, because she does really need this conversation with Adore, who calls things like they are, and Bianca, who really knows what she’s talking about. It’s time for Trixie’s lesbian intervention.

“Look, I know we aren’t the model of a healthy and easy relationship,” Bianca starts, setting her notes aside, “but we set our intentions and boundaries from the beginning. Things got a little crossed along the way—” Bianca glances at Adore, and Adore just shrugs. “—but we’ve worked it out because we’re honest with ourselves and each other. Both you and Katya like to avoid your feelings. That’s okay, you both have shit to deal with, and it would be great if you could deal with that shit together. Just do it the right way, kid.”

Adore leans over the seats and kisses Bianca, handing her her lunch. “You’re so wise, Willow.”

“Thanks. Now get to the costume room, you two are late for your fittings.” Bianca returns to her notes and points towards the stage.

Adore seems to want to stare at Bianca for longer, so Trixie grabs her arm and pulls her along. “Okay, I get everything you guys are saying. But there was a hang-up with you, too.”

“Yeah, because of my side-gig,” Adore says. They go up the stage stairs and part the curtain to backstage.

“How did you work that out?”

“I mean, Bianca didn’t love that I was a hooker, but she wasn’t going to tell me to stop, because it’s my life.” Trixie opens the door to the hallway and lets Adore walk through. “Luckily, my album got a release date and I’m going to start shows, so I’m not losing that much income. But I knew I didn’t want to be doing sex work while I was in a relationship with Bianca. It didn’t feel fair.”

The hallway is lined with dressing rooms, closets, prop rooms, set pieces. It’s quiet, but for their footsteps echoing off of the walls. Trixie looks at her toes as she walks — she needs a pedicure if she’s going to keep wearing flip flops.

“Well, I feel the same way. I don’t think it’s fair to be with Katya right now when I can’t be honest with her, and I can’t decide not to be pregnant just so I can date her,” Trixie says. They round the corner of the hallway, and then Adore freezes. Trixie looks up.

There’s Asia, standing outside of the costume fitting room, hands on her hips. Well, fuck. Trixie can’t backtrack out of this one, especially not when the words came right from her lips.

“Hi, ladies.” Asia isn’t even trying to keep the grin off of her face, and it grows as neither Adore nor Trixie says anything. They just sort of stare at her, Adore’s mouth moving wordlessly, tears jumping to Trixie’s eyes. “Relax. I’m not going to say anything. Y’all just need to learn to talk about secrets in private, or everyone is going to know.”

Adore stays silent, but Trixie laughs. “Fuck, I could not get more stupid.”

“You can say that again,” Asia mumbles.

Every time someone finds out, it makes Trixie relieved and anxious. It feels so _good_ to get this big secret off of her chest, really. It also means that Katya and Bianca are one person closer to finding out the truth. Trixie is straddling this weird line between wanting the cast — her new family — to be there for her and support her, but also wanting to keep them in the dark. She doesn’t want to be thrown out again.

“We should probably start the fitting before Bianca kills us,” Adore says. She goes to the door and pulls it open, waiting for Trixie and Asia to go through.

Trixie steps into the costume room and her senses are bombarded with _colors_. The entire rainbow and more is scattered around the room in patches of fabric, clumps of feathers, tutus and tights and taffeta. Hangers file down one wall, three rows high, and a long mirror is propped against the other. There are sketches and designs surrounding the mirror, covering almost every square inch of paint. Trixie can hear sewing machines blaring towards the back of the room, shielded by more racks of clothing.

Trixie steps up to the wall and looks at the designs. They have notes in hurried handwriting next to angular models and bold, fast strokes of color.

“Bianca did all those,” Adore says from behind her. When Trixie turns around, Adore is looking at the designs in awe.

“Are you serious?”

Adore nods. “She used to be a costume designer, but she’s a control freak so she moved into directing after a few years.” Adore presses her fingers to one of the designs — a mauve corset with a black-and-mauve tulle skirt and thigh-high boots. The note says it’s a costume for Sherrie from _Rock of Ages_. “Bianca made this one for me herself.” She smiles. “That show was the highlight of my life.”

One of the costumers digs her way through the clothing to meet them. “You’re Jenna, Dawn, and Becky, yes?” The three women nod. “Good. I want to do measurements first, and then we’ll fit you into the costumes.”

Adore starts taking off her clothes, as does Asia. Trixie follows, removing her pink sundress slowly. She’s only in a thong and a bra — normally, she would be a little self-conscious, but Adore’s lounging on the floor in a set of Calvin Klein’s and Asia doesn’t seem to mind that they’re practically naked. _We’re adults_ , Trixie thinks, _this isn’t gym class_.

The costumer comes back and pulls Adore off of the floor. She wraps her tape measure around her shoulders, chest, waist, and hips, taking notes as she goes. She double-checks everything, and does Adore’s breasts in a few ways to make sure she accounts for any variation in the bra that Adore is going to wear for the show. She repeats the process for Asia, and then it’s Trixie’s turn.

Trixie isn’t skinny, and she knows that, has made peace with it. She has big hips — child-bearing hips, her mother always told her, and it’s become all-too relevant now. Her boobs are big, she won’t lie, and her waist is kind of small, her tummy a little puffy. When the costumer measures her waist, she hums with some sort of approval, and it makes Trixie angry — but then she’s concerned, because isn’t she supposed to be pregnant?

When the costumer goes back into the fabric abyss, Trixie turns and looks at herself in the mirror, scrutinizing her stomach.

“I think I’ve lost weight,” she says, turning to Adore and Asia.

Adore’s brow furrows. “Aren’t you supposed to be gaining weight?”

“That’s what I’m thinking.” Trixie looks in the mirror again and presses her fingers into her stomach.

“Have you had morning sickness? Food aversion?” Asia asks. Trixie nods and catches her eyes in the mirror. “That’s normal, then, as long as it hasn’t been too much loss. You’re throwing up a third of what you’d normally eat in a day. You’ll gain more once the sickness stops.”

“How do you know all that?” Adore’s eyes are wide — Trixie knows pregnancy is about as foreign to her as it was, and still is, to Trixie.

“My mom was an OB/GYN, and I have a lot of nieces and nephews.” Asia sits on a stool and leans her back against the wall. A feather hanging off of a jacket tickles her ear, and she swats at it. “Do you know what you’re having yet?”

Trixie shakes her head. “I'm only nine weeks.”

“Oof, girl, you have a long way to go.”

“What do you think it is?” Adore asks, but only moments later her eyes go wide. “Oh my God, your baby is gonna be a Pisces!”

“Oh, Adore,” Asia says, biting back a smile.

“Well, I don’t know what that means.” Trixie turns away from the mirror again and looks at her friends. “But I hope it’s a girl. I really want a girl.”

“Aren’t there weird ways that you can tell without that ultra-thing?” Adore looks at Asia.

Asia shrugs. “None that are scientifically proven.”

The costumer comes back with three matching waitress outfits. They’re all pinned at about the right lengths, so they just need to step into them and then have the rest fitted to them. Trixie goes first, then Asia, and then Adore. When they’re done, the costumer thanks them and sends them on their way.

Bianca is still in the theater when they get back to the stage, and Adore skips over to her. She’s writing some things down, probably notes to prepare for the coming run-throughs and dress rehearsals.

“Willow, can we go to the Huntington Library Gardens?” Adore wraps her arms around Bianca’s neck from behind, nearly pushing Bianca’s face into her notes. “I want some cute pictures to send to my mom.”

Bianca’s hand reaches blindly to Adore’s neck. “I’m sorry, angel, but I have so much work to do right now. Can we go later?”

“But they close at five.”

“I have to look at the lights with Aaron, I have to plan all the cues…” Bianca turns her head and kisses Adore’s cheek. “I’m very sorry.”

Adore turns her pout on Asia and Trixie.

“Don’t look at me, girl,” Asia says. “I have plans.”

“Trixie?” Adore’s eyes are big and almost teary, and Trixie knows it’s for the drama — _damn_ , what a good actress she is.

Trixie shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I have work in half an hour.”

“You guys all suck.” Adore huffs and stomps out of the theater.

Asia, Bianca, and Trixie all stare at each other. Asia lets out a long breath, Bianca widens her eyes, and Trixie shrugs. It’s easy to forget that Adore is older than Trixie, sometimes.

* * *

Putting in almost twelve hour days hasn’t gotten easier. Trixie’s had many jobs in her life so far, and none were as demanding as both waiting tables and working on a professional musical — but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Addie has been nothing but supportive from the day Trixie told her that she got the part in _Waitress_. She isn’t really one for the theater, Trixie knows, but Addie did her research, started listening to the musical soundtrack, and she’s able to ask Trixie questions about her rehearsals, her part, and her songs. Sometimes she even helps Trixie rehearse on slow nights, or when they’re closing up. It’s helpful, having basically the real set that Trixie will be using in the musical.

She’s gotten to work late a few times, and she’s slacked off on nights after a long rehearsal, but she always shows up in a good mood — and that’s something that Trixie can attribute to _Waitress_ and the cast that became her family before she even noticed. She finds herself humming the lyrics while she cleans dishes, then tells Addie stories about how Kameron is surprisingly funny, or how Ben shifts from peppy and happy to goth and emo with such ease that it catches Trixie off guard each time. She talks about Adore and Bianca’s antics, Kim’s makeup expertise and youthful wisdom, and she talks about Katya.

Trixie talks about Katya’s eyes the most, how they’re a vivid blue, green on some days like the brackish water of a lake on a sunny day. She likes how Katya’s eyes study _everything_ with care and contemplation, and she enjoys the way Katya pretends like she doesn’t notice everything. Katya is crazy, she tells Addie, and she has a morbid wit like no other, but her depths seem endless and Trixie feels like she’s barely made it beneath the surface.

Sometimes, like today, when Trixie hasn’t gotten her daily fix of Katya, Addie has to stop her from her diatribe and send her back to work. She actually tells Trixie to bake something, even though it’s almost seven at night, just so she stops talking.

Trixie bakes a pie. She’s never been particularly good at pies, but she feels like it’s only appropriate, since she _is_ playing a waitress who bakes pies. She’s also practicing for the show because she actually gets to toss flour and sugar into a bowl and has to make it look real. She works on it quickly, sometimes stopping to run plates or bring back dishes, and then picks it back up again. When she puts the pie in the oven, Addie pokes her head into the kitchen.

“Trixie, honey, your Russian girl is here,” Addie says.

Trixie nearly drops the bowl that she’s putting in the sink. “Katya?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know?” Trixie scrubs at her bowls frantically, berries getting stuck under her nails as she does.

“Because you’ve talked about her so much that I could paint a picture from memory.” Addie holds the door open for Trixie to peer out into the restaurant. There’s Katya at the hostess stand with Adore and Kim in tow.

Trixie’s lips pull into a smile. “Put them in my section, please. I’ll be right there.”

Addie nods and leaves the kitchen. Trixie scrubs the rest of the utensils she used for the pie, then washes her own hands and dries them. The cook is working on a burger, so Trixie goes to his side and taps his shoulder.

“Could you take the pie out when the timer goes off?” she asks, and when he nods, she leaves the kitchen.

Katya, Kim, and Adore are seated at a booth on the left side of the diner, and Addie’s already given them menus. Trixie takes a moment to look at them — specifically Katya, who’s looking at her menu and hasn’t noticed Trixie. She’s in a weird, tan-plaid dress that would look awful on anyone but Katya. Her hair is in a ponytail, her bangs hanging into her eyes because she hasn’t cut them in a while. Trixie wants to move them to the side just so she can see those gorgeous irises.

Her conversation with Adore and Bianca today brought new conviction to her. Shereally does want to date Katya even with the pregnancy, and her resolve to do otherwise is waning.

“What are you guys doing here?” Trixie asks when she approaches the table. Katya finally looks at her, and it’s like she’s staring at the brightest star in the sky. It makes Trixie melt.

“Bianca was still busy and I didn’t want to be alone,” Adore explains, “so I called these losers to take me to dinner.”

Kim rolls her eyes. “If we’re losers, why did you call us?”

“Because I’m a loser, too.” Adore buries her nose in the menu again.

“Adore told us that you were working tonight,” Katya says. “I wanted to see what you do in your free time.”

“Free time?” Trixie raises an eyebrow, and Kim laughs as Katya blushes. She looks like she’s trying to sink into the booth cushions. “What can I get you guys to drink?”

Adore looks up. “Do you have alcohol?”

“We have beer?”

“Perfect. One for me and one for Kim,” Adore says.

“Bitch, you better not get me drunk tonight.” Kim and Adore start bickering, and Trixie tunes them out, as usual.

Trixie looks at Katya. “Water?” Katya nods. “I’ll be right back with that.”

She leaves the table, aware that Katya’s eyes follow her as she goes. She wonders if Katya feels the same irresistible pull as her, if she’s fighting with herself over telling Trixie that she has feelings for her.

She gets two beers from the refrigerator in the kitchen, then fills three glasses with water. She puts them on a tray and carries that back to their table.

“Thanks, Trixie,” Adore says when Trixie hands her the beer and water. Kim nods when she gets hers, as well.

“Thank you.” Katya takes the straw that Trixie offers her. “This is so weird.”

Trixie nods. “A little, yeah. Are you all ready to order?”

“Yes,” Kim says. “Could I please have the barbecue burger?” Trixie nods, and Kim hands her menu over.

Adore gives her menu to Trixie, too. “I’ll just have the Caesar salad, please. Thanks, Trix.”

“Uh.” Katya looks at Trixie sheepishly. “Could I have the chicken tenders, please?”

Adore bursts into laughter, pulling the attention of an older couple nearby.

Trixie laughs, too. “Are you five?” But she writes the order down before Katya can respond.

“I just feel like having chicken tenders, okay?” Katya shrugs, and she takes a sip of her water after she gives Trixie the menu.

Trixie turns and starts walking away, but she returns to their table quickly. “I forgot,” she says, looking at Katya, “did you want the regular tenders or the Dino-shaped ones?”

This time, Adore laughs so hard that she has to put her head on the table to contain herself. Kim rubs her back and laughs at the look on Katya’s face. She’s glaring at Trixie, red covering her cheeks. Trixie just winks and blows Katya a kiss, which makes Katya look away to hide her smile.

Trixie actually leaves the table before she can giggle more and puts the orders in. It’s seven-thirty on a Wednesday, so it’s not exactly the busiest time for the diner, but Trixie has a few other tables. She takes a pitcher of water and does a round of refills, clears appetizers from the table next to her friends’, runs some plates to one of Addie’s tables. She can't help but look at Katya every time she has the chance — it’s addicting, and it’s gotten to the point where Trixie has almost spilled a water on a man because she’s distracted by the way Katya’s shoulders shake when she laughs.

When Katya’s chicken fingers are ready, Trixie takes a bottle of ketchup and draws a smiley-face on the rim of the plate. She gets Adore and Kim’s meals, too, and then brings them out to the table.

Adore clocks Trixie’s addition to Katya’s plate and smiles. “Oh, look Katya, the nice lady put a smiley-face on your chicken fingers.”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Katya says, but she’s laughing. She looks up at Trixie. “You are rotted, Trixie.”

Trixie simpers. “Aw, thank you so much.” Katya laughs fully, her wheezes shaking the table, and Trixie feels like she’s won a prize.

She leaves them to eat and clears the tables that are now empty. The pie is ready in the kitchen, and she finds it already on the cooling rack. She puts it in a pie dish and displays it on the counter in the restaurant — it feels very _Waitress_ of her. For probably the millionth time, Trixie thinks about how stupidly perfect this all is. Her life is just a system of full-circles, it seems.

The diner doesn’t usually close until close to eleven, but it’s been pretty slow since she set out her friends’ food. Addie is already starting to close up without being obvious to the last three tables in the place. Trixie’s grateful, because she’s so tired despite only having a half-rehearsal today.

Trixie gets Adore another beer and refills Katya and Kim’s waters, clears their table. They don’t move to pay or leave, having a good time chatting about something that Trixie can’t hear. She’d kill to be in the booth with her friends, but she can’t while there’s still other people in the restaurant. Instead, she leans on the counter and watches them — watches Katya, really. She watches so intently that she doesn’t even sense Addie at her side.

“They’re a cute bunch. Especially the blonde.” Addie says. She mirrors Trixie and nudges her shoulder.

“Yeah.”

Addie doesn’t know she’s gay — well, Trixie hasn’t told her, but Addie isn’t stupid. Trixie has talked about Katya too much for a straight girl, or even for Katya to be just a friend. Once again, she’s not ashamed. It doesn’t matter how ridiculous she looks pining over Katya from across the room. She feels how she feels.

“You can leave early tonight.”

Trixie shakes her head and looks at Addie. “That’s okay, I’ll close with you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Addie looks between her and Katya. “You’ve been putting in a lot of hours between this and that show. You gotta relax. Spend time with your friend.”

Trixie smiles. Addie goes to clear the table that just left — they’re down to two, now, just some high school kids and Kim, Katya, and Adore. Trixie starts sorting some coffee cups that she left behind the counter, just trying to busy herself until the last table leaves and she can join her friends.

“So it turns out you’re as good a waitress as you are a performer.”

Trixie almost drops the mug she’s holding on the ground when her heart stops. She turns around and looks at Katya, eyes wide. “You scared the shit out of me, Barbara.”

At least Katya looks sheepish. “Sorry.” Katya scans the counter as Trixie finishes with the mugs. “This pie looks great.”

“Thanks.” Trixie leans her forearms on the counter, trying to get closer to Katya.

“You made that?” Katya laughs when Trixie nods. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

Katya shakes her head. “Nothing, it’s just the— the _Waitress_ thing, with the pies, you know?”

“Yeah, it’s stupidly ironic,” Trixie says. She pulls out three plates and a pie-cutter and takes the top off of the display. “Do you want a piece?”

“Sure. Let’s see how good you are at baking.” Katya raises her eyebrows, and it makes Trixie giggle for some reason.

As she cuts the pieces, Addie brings some money to the register at the counter. Trixie can see her out of the corner of her eye, how she tries to sneak glances between Trixie and Katya that don’t turn out to be subtle. Trixie laughs under her breath when Addie finally slams the money drawer closed and comes to stand beside Trixie.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Trix?” Addie asks.

It’s ridiculous, but all of a sudden Trixie has the urge to cry. She hears the mirth in Addie’s voice, how she recognizes that Katya is special to her. Trixie feels like a kid with a crush and she’s being teased by her mom — and that’s what it is. Addie may not be her mom, but she has been a motherly figure since Trixie showed up at the diner almost two months ago. She never thought she’d get to experience something like this — the excitement of having feelings for someone, for a _woman_ , or getting to proudly share those feelings with someone she considers family.

Trixie clears her throat, plating the last piece of pie. “Uh, Katya, this is my manager, Addie.”

“Hi, Addie,” Katya says, and she reaches her hand over the counter for Addie to shake. “I’m Katya Zamolodchikova. I work on the show with Trixie.”

“Oh, I know, honey. Trixie is so proud to be in your production, she can’t stop talking about it— or singing about it.” Addie laughs, and Katya laughs with her, smiling at Trixie in a way she’s never seen before. Trixie feels her cheeks turn hot.

Trixie just sort of watches the exchange like a kid watching two adults, and she feels even more like she’s in a high school rom-com. It’s not uncomfortable, necessarily, but it is weird, and not even the sentimentality of the moment can make it better.

She picks up the plates, balancing the third on her wrist. “I’m gonna take these to your table.” She looks at Katya, expecting to walk over there with her, when Katya’s phone rings. She looks down at the screen and her brow furrows with concern.

“Uh, I have to take this.” Katya holds her phone up in explanation, and Trixie sees a New York number on the screen. “I’ll be right back.”

Trixie is more than curious as to the nature of that call, but it’s not her place to ask; instead, she takes the slices of pie to Adore and Kim, putting Katya’s in her empty place. The bell above the door jingles with Katya’s exit.

“Can you sit with us, Trix?” Adore asks, her fork already halfway to her mouth.

Trixie looks at the table of kids — they’re not paying attention — and shrugs. “Sure.”

She slides into the side of the booth where Katya was sitting. She taps the table, trying to resist the urge to take a bite out of Katya’s pie. She’ll do it — but only when Katya gets back. Doing it while she’s gone would just be rude.

“How was your day off, Kim?” Trixie asks, just as Kim takes a bite of pie — it’s the waitress in her that always gets the worst timing.

Kim nods until she swallows. “It was great. I went to the mall, bought some new makeup products that came out.”

“I’d love to try some, if they’re any good.” Trixie eyes Katya’s pie again. Her resolve is dwindling, so Katya better hurry up.

Like that’s the reason why she wants Katya to come back to the table.

“Do you think I’d get anything bad? Please,” Kim says. “I got some cream palettes and a new metallic lipstick.”

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to try one! I usually stick to matte but I’m feeling a little _out there_ , you know?” Trixie flicks her hands for emphasis.

Adore snorts out a laugh. “You two are fucking nerds.”

“And you love us,” Trixie says. She reaches her hand across the table and covers Adore’s wrist with it. Adore smiles at her touch.

The door jingles again, and Trixie sees Katya weave between the high school kids who are on the way out. Her eyes look a little lost, and she’s sort of drifting rather than walking. That sight immediately sets off alarms in Trixie’s head.

“Everything okay?” Kim asks when Katya gets to the table. So it’s not just Trixie who notices this.

Katya nods, and she seems to pull herself out of it. “Yeah, great.” She eyes Trixie in the booth, notices that Trixie is sitting in the very middle of the bench. “I see someone’s stolen my seat.”

“I was just guarding your pie.” Trixie looks at her under her eyelashes and sends her a smoldering smirk. Katya tries to hide her not-so-subtly flustered reaction with a laugh before shoving into the booth.

“How kind.” The force of Katya’s body moves Trixie a few inches to the left, but for the most part they end up pressed together.

Trixie’s lightheaded all of a sudden — it’s the most they’ve touched since they slept together. So, Adore was right about one thing. Being pressed this close to Katya makes her feel like she’s been in withdrawal, and she is sure she’s going to be craving for more touch, more cuddles and _platonic_ kisses. She absently thinks about the irony of using an addiction metaphor with Katya.

Adore’s speaking, and Trixie realizes she hasn’t been paying attention. “Bianca said he could come to rehearsal the day before dress, so I’m really excited.”

“Who’s coming?” Trixie asks. “Sorry, I sort of zoned.”

“My producer. He doesn’t have a lot of time to see the actual show, but he said he wanted to try and see as close to the real thing as possible.” Adore shrugs. “It’s really nice of him.”

Trixie nods. “And it’s nice of Bianca to let him come before opening night.”

“Bianca is whipped,” Katya says around a mouthful of pie.

“She’s not the only—” Adore’s jab is silenced with Kim’s elbow in her rib.

Katya’s leg starts to bounce beside her, but she doesn’t move away from Trixie.

“I can’t believe we open next week,” Kim says.

“Ten days.” Trixie nods in agreement. Katya has picked up another bite of pie on her fork, and before she gets it to her mouth, Trixie wraps her hand around Katya’s and tries to redirect the fork towards her own mouth.

“Hey!” Katya tries to yank the fork back. “That’s mine.”

Trixie pushes her lips into a pout. “Just one bite. Please?”

“Fine, I guess you can try it, but only because you made it,” Katya says. She turns the fork towards Trixie and brings it to her mouth, and Trixie takes a bite, teeth sinking into the crunch of the crust and the fruit underneath.

She pretends like she doesn’t see the smug look Kim and Adore share across the table, and she can’t even think about it after a moment. Katya is staring at her — well, staring at her mouth, and somehow this got very intimate very quickly.

“Oh, look at the time,” Adore says, like a fucking dork. “I think Bianca’s outside for me. Kim, you want a ride home?”

Kim is already sliding out of the booth. “Always.”

“Katya?”

It’s the first time Katya looks away from Trixie, and it effectively breaks the moment. Trixie stares down at her hands.

“I think I’ll walk Trixie home, but thanks,” Katya says. Trixie looks up, tries to hide the surprise on her face. Katya just smiles at her.

“Great, then you’ll pay?” Adore asks, and before Katya can respond, she says, “Thanks for dinner! Also, thank you so much, Trixie. See you guys tomorrow!”

Kim waves, and then they disappear out the door and into the night.

Trixie realizes how close she is to Katya all of a sudden, how talking to her feels more like speaking against her lips. “You could have gone with them.”

“I know.” Katya’s pinky slides onto her thigh and Trixie shivers. “I’d rather stay with you.”

Trixie swallows. Jesus, she’s pathetic — absolutely useless in this situation, this picture-perfect moment where she’s in an empty, retro diner mere inches from this stunning woman who she wants to kiss so badly. She feels like there’s a string pulled tight between Katya’s lips and her own, but a rope is tied around her shoulders and it’s holding her firmly in place.

“Let me take these plates back and then we can go,” Trixie practically whispers. This is infuriating. She just wants Katya to _do it_ , but somehow she knows Katya won’t.

Katya nods. “I’ll help.” She slides out of the booth and picks up her plate.

“No, you don’t have to.” Trixie tries to stop her from taking another plate, but Katya bats her hand away.

“You literally cleaned my apartment after the party last week, it’s no worries, Trix.”

Trixie takes the last plate and leads Katya into the kitchen. Addie’s in there stacking clean plates, and she watches them go to the sink with a smirk.

“You can leave those right there, thanks, darlings,” Addie says. “Goodnight. It was nice meeting you, Katya.”

Trixie pulls her purse from the shelves on the wall and goes to Katya’s side.

“It was nice meeting you, as well.” Katya opens the kitchen door and lets Trixie walk through.

Trixie rounds the counter, bringing Katya with her with fingers on her arm. “Let me just close out your check.”

Katya pulls a credit card out of her bra — yes, her _bra_ — and hands it to Trixie, who taps the buttons on the register. Her receipt prints, and then Katya signs it. A few bills of cash materialize from her bra, too, and she gives them to Trixie.

“Keep the change,” Katya says with a wink, and then she takes a step back. “Oh, ew, sorry. I thought that would be funny but it was just gross.”

The bills are warm in Trixie’s hand, which she tries not to think about. “It really was.”

Trixie doesn’t live too far from the diner, just a thirteen minute walk. They’re quiet for some of the way, but Katya frequently comments on strangers they pass or different shops she’s been to. Her voice is soft and it relaxes Trixie as they go. She feels her shoulder tap Katya’s more than once, and then suddenly the whole of their arms are touching.

They get to Trixie’s building, and the prospect of leaving Katya makes Trixie panic, just a bit. Her apartment is drab, she knows, and she literally doesn’t have any furniture for them to sit at, but she asks Katya up anyway. They climb the two flights of stairs, Trixie leading Katya by the hand — she’s not sure how that happened, but she’s definitely not mad about it.

“Don’t laugh,” Trixie says as her key turns in the lock. She opens the door. Thankfully, she literally doesn’t have anything in her apartment, so she’s not worried about it being messy. “I don’t have a sofa or a table.”

Katya steps inside, looks around. She nods a few times like she’s impressed. “It’s cute.”

“It’s not. It was the only apartment that I could get without signing a real lease.” She surveys the room for herself, now — the little “living room” that’s just a six-foot extension of floor from her stove and her bedroom that has four walls but no door, just an empty frame. Her tiny bathroom is feet away.

“So it’s small, whatever.” Katya waves a hand. “Los Angeles rent is expensive.” She takes a few steps in and is already halfway across the place. “Wanna show me your bedroom?”

Trixie nods. “That’s the only place with furniture, so.” She pushes Katya a little bit further, and then they cross the threshold into the bedroom. “It’s literally just a bed.”

“Mary, we have got to get you some stuff.” Katya runs her hand over the quilt that Trixie uses for a comforter and then sits on the edge of the bed.

“I have stuff. I have a guitar,” Trixie says. It’s probably her only possession that isn’t clothes or her phone, so it’s not helping her case, but it doesn’t matter. No possession matters more than her grandfather’s Gibson Hummingbird, the one thing that she’s brought everywhere and that she’ll never be without. She goes to her closet and slides open the door, pulls out the instrument.

“Woah.”

Trixie holds it out to Katya. “You like it?”

“It’s gorgeous,” Katya says.

“It was my grandfather’s, before he gave it to me.” Trixie lets Katya run a finger over it, then takes it back and leans against the wall, holding it against her chest.

“You wanna play something for me?” Katya’s smiling, and Trixie can’t resist, even if it’s maybe the last thing she wants to do.

Trixie goes to the other side of the bed and sits, holding the guitar in her lap. “Okay.”

She hasn’t played for anyone in a very long time. In fact, she’s not sure she’s played for anyone but her grandfather. She used to take her guitar out to the edge of the woods and play for the birds that rose out of the trees at the first strum of her fingers. It was solitary for her — it’s a part of her more than it is something that she does for fun, and now she’s about to share that with Katya. She wouldn’t feel this exposed even if she were naked.

Trixie starts to pluck out a slow tune. “I, uh, wrote this a little bit ago. It’s not very good.” She clears her throat before she starts to sing. “ _Heavy head and a heavy crown. Had a few since you came to town. Where are you gonna keep them, still?_ ”

Trixie doesn’t look up the whole time she sings, keeps her eyes trained on the movements of her fingers and the vibrating strings. She can feel Katya’s eyes and hears how her breath barely leaves her lungs, and it’s starting to feel really good. It’s intoxicating.

“ _Did you have to grow? Gotta be the last to know; and all the records, they don’t play the same, but they’ve changed_.” She finishes the last chords and then looks up. She hugs the guitar like it’s going to protect her from whatever Katya has to say.

“That might have been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” Katya says, and there’s literally a tear in her eye from concentrating on Trixie so hard.

Trixie ducks her head to hide her blush. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything you can’t do?”

“I can’t do a split.”

“Good, ’cause that’s my thing.” Katya laughs, and it’s loud and wonderful. Trixie tries not to think about Katya and how flexible she is. “I’m serious, Trixie. That song was fantastic.”

“I appreciate it,” Trixie says, setting her guitar to the side, “a lot, especially from you.”

“I tell it like it is, mama. Do you want to be a professional singer?”

Trixie shrugs. “Sort of. I had this idea that doing theater is less stupid than trying to be a real country singer, but when I’m old and have enough money, I’d like to move to the country and write songs for other artists.”

Katya’s smile is wide and bright, and Trixie thinks that if doesn’t look away from it now she never will. Katya’s the one who looks away, though, checking her watch. “It’s getting late. I should probably leave you alone.”

Trixie jumps up before Katya can stand, and she kind of looks ridiculous, she realizes. She’s practically manic. “You should stay the night here.”

Trixie has no argument, really. She doesn’t want Katya walking home in the dark, sure, but it’s not why she’s telling Katya to stay and she’s getting really sick of lying. Katya doesn’t question her, thank God, and though she looks like she’s going to protest, she doesn’t move.

“Okay.”

Trixie gives her clothes to sleep in and tells her where everything is in the bathroom. She gets ready for bed after Katya, and then they climb under Trixie’s thin covers. It’s hot in the apartment because the air conditioning is bad and the circulation isn’t any better, but Katya still pulls her close. Trixie runs her fingers from the top of Katya’s hand to the curve of her shoulder and back again, tracing her fingers over the black lines of her tattoos like they’re ancient runes.

“Did these hurt?” Trixie asks softly.

Katya shrugs. “I got most of them when I was on drugs, so no.” She laughs hollowly. “The ones that I got after did hurt.”

Trixie nods. “I like them.”

She threads her fingers through Katya’s, and everything seems like it’s in place for the first time since she slept at Katya’s. They don’t speak anymore, don’t acknowledge what’s happening or why, and it’s the opposite of what Trixie knows she’s supposed to be doing — but the scent of Katya’s shampoo and the feeling of Katya’s legs against hers makes her care a lot less.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all are NOT ready

Katya clicks _Join with video_ and sits up straight.

“Hi, Katya?” Sasha Velour’s tinny voice comes through Katya’s laptop speakers. They look — interesting, and Katya actually thinks that their bald head and thick eyebrows are fitting for the Brooklyn-based playwright.

Katya nods. “It’s nice to meet you.” She almost cringes at her words — distance interviews are weird. It shouldn’t matter, though, because Sasha seems young, cool, and pretty laid back. Also, Katya’s not even sure she wants to do this anymore.

“You, as well. What are your pronouns?”

“She-her,” Katya says. “And yours?”

“Any’s fine.” Sasha smiles and collects their notes, likely Katya’s resumé and a letter from Bianca. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to get back to you about the interview. I’m trying to get through this first draft and it’s been taking some time.”

“No worries. I understand how long the writing takes.” Katya looks out the window at a light that’s been flickering and distracting her. She’s trying to fight through her nerves, stay present.

Sasha’s eyes widen, and they laugh. “Definitely. Do you have any writing experience?”

“I took playwriting in college, but nothing really serious. I’m more of a visual person,” Katya says.

“I get that.” Sasha looks down at their notes. “So, I wanted to ask you a little bit about your experience. Bianca says you’ve worked on her last four shows as assistant director.”

“Yes.”

“I also see that you’ve blocked and choreographed a musical and two professional plays in Boston. How much experience do you have with lighting, cues, and music?” Sasha asks, clicking their pen in preparation of Katya’s answer.

Katya clears her throat. “I’ve studied under Bianca pretty closely, and in _Rock of Ages_ I took the lead on coordinating the lighting with our guy. I’m not a singer, but I can play piano and I’ve picked up how to manage on our last few musicals. I’m also working on cues with Bianca for our current musical.”

“That’s _Waitress_ , right?” When Katya nods, Sasha smiles. “I love that show”

“If you find yourself in Los Angeles soon, you should come see it. I can say that it’s the best musical Bianca’s done yet,” Katya says, and she can't help but grin thinking about it. She’s so fucking proud of the show, of Bianca and the cast, and of Trixie.

Sasha laughs. “If I ever have time, that sounds great.” They look down. “I’ll tell you a bit about the play, now. I know my email gave a little bit of a synopsis, but what I’m really trying to do is combine the traditional with the subversive — take the identities that Russia has repressed and express them through folklore tales. I’m not necessarily looking for a Russian director, but it would be nice to have someone who might be familiar with the source material to help with the vision.”

“Well, you’re talking to the right girl.” Katya points to herself and flashes a thumbs-up.

“Yeah, I sort of assumed from the name. Are you from Russia?” Sasha asks.

“No, I’m first generation. You?”

“Second. My grandparents left during Stalin’s Jewish repression after the Holocaust.”

“My parents left a little after the collapse,” Katya says. “But I’ve been back a lot to visit my бабушка и дедушка.”

“Where do they live?” Sasha asks, and it feels like the interview is forgotten.

“St. Petersburg.”

“Oh! I lived there and studied there in college. I love it.” Sasha’s beaming, and Katya is sure she is, too. It’s nice to finally talk to another Russian who she isn’t related to.

Katya’s phone buzzes on the table, and she looks at the lit screen.

 **Tracy Martel:** Hey, are you coming to rehearsal today?

She wants to answer the message, but there’s no way she can while she’s on the call with Sasha. It’s almost twelve-thirty, and Katya guesses they’re about to start their last run-through before their complete dress rehearsal tomorrow. She had hoped to be there today, but Sasha only had appointments later in the day, New York time. Maybe Trixie’s nervous and needs her, or something’s gone wrong and she’s missing it.

 **Tracy Martel:** Adore was wondering if you could bring a pizza on your way here, and I could go for a Gatorade and a donut, if possible.

Katya flips her phone over and returns her attention to Sasha. “Anyway, I think your idea for this show is great. I love how creepy and morbid Russian fairy tales are.”

“Me too, and they’re a good setting to tie in some of the historical significance and conflict that I’m going for,” Sasha says. They look down at their notes. “Well, that’s it for me. Do you have any questions?”

“What does the timeline for this look like, if I were to get the job?”

“Good question.” They laugh. “I’m still working on the script, obviously, and I think the draft should be finished by next month. Ideally, the director would start collaborating then, but there would be no full-time commitment until January. Our producers are securing a theater then, and we’ll cast and get on with the production, opening mid-April.”

Katya swallows — it’s in the future, sure, but it feels so soon. It’s only five months, five months to leave everything behind and move to New York. She’s counting the days, weeks until then, and it doesn’t seem long enough. She feels her phone buzz on the table again.

“And I’d be expected to be in New York by January?” Katya asks.

Sasha nods. “I understand that _Waitress_ is supposed to run for at least eight months, but if I hired you I’d expect you to be based in New York, full-time, when we start casting. You’d be earning seventy-five percent of your salary until then, full salary once we get going with production.”

“Okay.” The clock on her microwave shows that it’s getting closer to one, and she really wants to get to the theater before the run-through is over. “I don’t have anymore questions. It’s a really exciting opportunity, thank you for considering me.”

“Of course! I’ll reach out by the end of the month to let you know,” Sasha says.

Katya waves at the camera. “I’ll talk to you then.”

“Goodbye, Katya.”

Katya clicks out of the meeting and closes the Zoom app on her computer. She sits for a moment, sort of stares at the screen in front of her. It’s a fantastic opportunity. She tells herself that over and over. She’s wanted to go to New York for a while now, she needs a change of scenery, she wants a better job and more opportunities on her own.

She picks up her phone and looks at Trixie’s texts. The cast wants two pizzas, Gatorade, donuts, and garlic knots, per Kim. She pulls up the online menu and starts the order on her way out the door.

By the time she gets to the theater, the pizza guy is there. She leads him through the side entrance and sneaks into the hallway behind the stage. Ben and Bob are milling there; they perk up when they notice the pizza guy with Katya. There are a few tables in the hallway for props that mostly aren’t done, and Katya instructs the pizza guy to put out the spread there before giving him an extra tip. After she sends him off, she turns around to find the boys already peeking into the boxes.

“Hey! Get your talons away from those, it’s not lunch yet,” Katya says, swatting Ben’s hand away.

Ben pouts. “But it’s almost—”

“Wait.” Katya narrows her eyes at him. “Where are they?”

“‘Soft Place to Land,’” Bob says. He steals a donut before she can stop him.

Katya turns to Ben and crosses her arms. “Dude, your solo is next. Back away from the pizza before you miss your cue.” Ben nods and hurries through the door to backstage. Katya starts walking towards the seating, but she whirls on Bob. “I swear to God, Bob, wait for intermission!”

Katya walks into the auditorium at the end of “A Soft Place to Land,” glad she made it to hear Trixie’s voice. She saw her yesterday, but it feels like it’s been ages. Each time she’s away from Trixie, Katya almost forgets just how beautiful she is — how soft her full lips and rosy cheeks are, how striking her voice and personality are. Trixie’s wearing a pink skirt and a white halter-top that is absolutely showing the fantastic curves of her body, amplified by the stage lights. Katya stops to take it in, commit it to memory for the hundredth time, vows to never forget an atom of Trixie.

Bianca is a few rows back from the front, as has been her usual perch during the full run-throughs, but this time a man is next to her. Katya walks through the rows and reaches theirs, and since the man is sitting closest to the aisle, she sits gently beside him. He’s built large and balding, wearing a t-shirt and red chino pants. Katya decides she likes him already.

He gives her a small side-eye as the scene changes and Bianca yells directions. Katya smiles at him. “Hi, I’m Katya Zamolodchikova, the assistant director.” She gives him her hand to shake.

“Danny Banks, nice to meet you.” He returns her handshake firmly. “I’m Adore’s producer.

“Right, she did mention you were coming by. How are you enjoying it?” Katya asks, her eyes shifting back to the stage momentarily.

Danny looks at the stage, as well. Ben begins his comical serenade to Adore. “I like it a lot. It seems it’s come together well.”

“Adore has been doing amazing.”

“And that other girl, the lead,” Danny says. “Who is she?”

Katya beams. “Her name is Trixie Mattel. Did Bianca tell you that she’s only twenty?”

“No, wow. She reminds me of Adore. Her voice is so…”

“Natural?” Katya asks. “It’s refreshing. She has a country music background and it runs in the family— her only formal training was two years of Theater at college.”

Bianca sits back down and eyes Katya from the other side of Danny, but she pretends that she isn’t listening.

“I’m impressed.” Danny turns his attention to the stage. Adore is running around, being chased by Ben while the ensemble accompanies him.

Katya eyes Danny again. He seems interested in Trixie — very interested, and if Katya is reading this right, there’s an opportunity that Trixie doesn’t even know she has. She’s not sure if Danny even understands the breadth of Trixie’s talent beyond performing in a musical, and some part of her feels like it’s her job to make sure he does. Trixie isn’t here, anyway, and if she’s reading this wrong she won’t even know. It’s the right thing to do.

Right?

Trixie’s coming onto the stage now, and they’re transitioning into the scene in Dr. Pomatter’s office — the scene that Trixie auditioned with. It’s how Trixie got the role and found her way into Katya’s life; Katya took a chance on her, convinced Bianca to do the same, and then Trixie stunned them with her talent saying the very words she is now. This is a full-circle moment, and Katya thinks it’s a sign.

“You know,” Katya says, leaning closer to Danny, “Trixie is a songwriter, too.”

Danny eyes her with a smirk — she’s being _that_ obvious — but he does seem interested. “Really?”

“It’s like a country-slash-folk sound, but she’s so young that it doesn’t feel stale. I love it and I’m not even a fan of the genre.” Katya crosses her arms over her chest and continues watching the rehearsal. She can feel Danny thinking, and she just hopes he comes to the conclusion she wants him to.

On stage, Trixie argues with Kameron the way she had with Katya — and then she kisses him in the climactic moment of Act One. Katya closes her eyes and pretends that it’s still her as Dr. Pomatter instead of Kam.

Act One ends with “Bad Idea” and the beginning of Jenna’s affair with Dr. Pomatter. Bianca gives a slew of critiques, and then the group breaks for lunch. Before Katya even stands up, Adore is barreling into the theater with a slice of pizza in her hand.

“Danny!” Adore shouts. She pushes past Katya and hugs Danny just as he stands.

Danny laughs and hugs her back. “Hi, Adore.”

“What do you think?”

Katya starts walking towards the hallway to get her pizza. She feels a presence approaching her, and when she turns, Bianca is falling in step beside her.

“How was the interview?” Bianca asks.

Katya forces a smile. “It was good. I really like Sasha.” Katya opens the door to the hallway backstage, letting Bianca go through first.

“I thought you would. They’re very smart, very creative,” Bianca says. “Do you think you’ll take it?”

The group is huddled around the tables, munching on pizza and having half-conversations. Trixie is in the center of it all, talking with Kennedy and Kim. She tilts her head back to take a sip of Gatorade, and when she does, her eyes lift and meet Katya’s. She puts the Gatorade on the table immediately and pushes her way through the group, meeting Katya with a smile that makes her chest flutter.

“Hi.”

It’s simple, a little shy compared to how fervently Trixie made her way to Katya. Katya wants to reach out and put her arms around Trixie’s waist, tuck her head under Trixie’s chin and kiss the skin of her shoulder.

“Hey, Trix,” she says instead.

Trixie is the one who initiates contact, pressing her fingers into Katya’s wrist and holding onto her like no one else is there. “How was your meeting?”

“Good.” Katya swallows thickly. So, she wasn’t exactly transparent with Trixie about the interview, hasn’t told her about her possible, sort of-likely plan to move to New York. She won’t do it now, not when Trixie holds her hand or cuddles her when they have sleepovers, and definitely not when she really wants Trixie to kiss her, even if that’s a distant dream.

“What was the meeting for again?” Trixie asks.

Katya fucking panics. She had some small, blind hope that Trixie wouldn’t ask that question. She stares at Trixie, searching her brain, trying to come up with _something_.

“It was with a crypt-keeper.”

 _What the fuck?_ Katya really wants to get hit with a falling ceiling tile, now. Over Trixie’s shoulder, Katya sees Bianca giving her a confused look.

Trixie is also confused. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Katya has no way to make this better. “It’s never too early to start planning your funeral, Mary.”

“Uh, I guess that’s true.” Trixie laughs, a bit awkwardly, and Katya doesn’t blame her. Bianca shakes her head in Katya’s peripheral vision. “Especially for you, since, you know—” Trixie taps the top of her wrist.“—clock is ticking.”

“Are you calling me old?"

“I’m not _not_ calling you old.”

Katya laughs and jabs Trixie’s side. Trixie jerks away, ticklish, and giggles. She almost knocks Bianca over in the process and dodges Bianca’s glare by going back to the table for pizza. Katya wishes she hadn’t, because now she’s stuck with Bianca giving her that knowing, patronizing look that she hates.

“Someone’s keeping a secret,” Bianca says.

Katya sighs. “I don’t want to tell her until I know I have the job. I’ll jinx it.” She picks at a piece of lint on her jeans, even after it falls to the ground. Katya feels Bianca staring at her, eyes softening.

“You’re not a very good liar.”

“That’s why I’m not an actor,” Katya says through a laugh.

Bianca just keeps staring at her. “You don’t have to take the job, you know.” When Katya looks up, Bianca’s brow is furrowed. “I’ve been pushing you to go to New York because you’ve been stagnant here. You lost that energy you came to Los Angeles with— and it wasn’t just because of the drugs, so don’t start. I’m not really one to tell you to give up your dreams for a girl, like you did last time.”

“Shut up,” Katya says. Bianca nudges her with her shoulder.

“But New York isn’t your dream, just like LA isn’t, either,” Bianca continues. “Your dream isn’t a place, Kat. It’s an idea, a goal to carve out your own space, bring something new to the scene, and have fun doing it. I just want to see you reach it, because I know you can, and you’re good enough that you can do it anywhere. You know why I didn’t fight so hard when Trixie wanted to audition?”

Katya watches Trixie almost spill Gatorade on Bob and then scream-laugh. She shakes her head. “Nope.”

“I didn’t do it because she had that youthful charm and wanted it so bad. I let her try because _you_ did.”

“What?” Katya asks. Bianca’s wise, but she’s no prophet — the idea is there, but the delivery is shit. Or maybe Katya is just dumb.

“You saw something in her, I don’t know how or why, but you did.” Bianca nudges her with her shoulder. “It’s probably because you’re a horny bitch and thought she was cute—”

“Fuck you, B.” Katya laughs anyway. It’s true.

“Whatever. But the look in your eye when you took her resumé, when you watched her sing— that’s the instinct that you need to be great in this business, and it’s the first time you’ve used it,” Bianca says. “It’s like you absorbed the energy that radiates from her. You were willing to take a risk and you fought for it like you did when you were a stubborn asshole just out of school. I was really fucking proud of you.”

Katya feels tears in her eyes. “Thanks, Bianca. Seriously.” She wraps her arm around Bianca’s shoulders, and she feels Bianca stiffen but stay still.

“Just don’t be stupid. Go to New York, or don’t, it doesn’t matter. That girl has the same dream as you, she just had to remind you of it. She’s good for you, so try and keep her around.” Bianca smirks up at her. “Even if you never tell her how you feel.”

The moment ends before it gets even cheesier, because the girl in question is on her way towards Katya and Bianca. She has two slices of pizza in her hands — one cheese, the other with peppers.

“I got you two a slice,” Trixie says. She hands the one with peppers to Katya and the other to Bianca.

Bianca laughs and shirks out of Katya’s embrace. “Wow, you really are a waitress.”

“Guys!” Adore’s voice echoes down the hallway and pulls Katya’s attention, as well as a few others. She comes around the corner with Danny in tow. “This is my producer, Danny.”

They have the group’s full attention, now, and Danny raises his hand in greeting. “Hi, everyone. Great job out there, keep it up.”

Katya laughs. He’s not exactly awkward, but he does sound like a little league coach. Adore shuffles through the crowd and snags Trixie’s arm, pulling her towards Danny.

“Danny wants to talk to you,” Adore says, and Katya’s interested. She stands nearby, not eavesdropping, but they all know she’s listening. Trixie spares her a quick glance.

Danny extends his hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Trixie. I’m Danny Banks, the head of the rock music department at Visage Records.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Trixie says. It’s the most apprehensive Katya has heard her.

“I wanted to tell you how impressed I am with your voice and your stage presence. Adore has told me a lot about you — all of you.” Danny looks up at the group, then back to Trixie. “But I did hear that you, specifically, are a bit of a songwriter.”

Trixie’s eyes shift to Katya, and Katya can’t get a read on her. “It’s a hobby of mine, yeah.”

“And you sing mostly country music?”

“Country and folk. I play the guitar and the autoharp, too,” Trixie says. She is tapping her fingers on her thigh nervously, but Katya can see the pull of a smile in her cheeks.

Danny nods. “Well, listen, we’re trying to expand our country department and reach a younger demographic. I think you might be a good fit for it, if you’re interested in becoming a professional musician.”

So Katya was right, and she maybe just scored Trixie a record label — no big deal.

Adore is practically jumping next to Danny, and she grabs Trixie’s shoulder. “You can totally still do musicals, obviously I’m doing that, and you’ll just have to take off some nights if you have gigs.”

“Uh,” Trixie says, stalling. Katya can see her breathing quicken, and then she smiles. “Yes. I am definitely interested.”

“Great. I just need a video of you singing to send to my partner, Garrett. He’s our head of country.” Danny pulls out his phone and starts tapping at the screen.

Trixie’s face falls, and she shifts her weight. “Oh, I don’t really have anything ready, I need to edit my songs. I don’t even have my guitar.”

“That’s okay,” Danny says. “Sing whatever you want.”

“You can borrow a guitar from one of the musicians. They won’t mind.” Katya, Trixie, and Adore turn to Bianca — a bit surprised, but then it’s Bianca; she’s an asshole, but a loving one.

Adore grabs Trixie’s hand and tugs her. “Come on, everyone! Trixie’s gonna play us a song.”

Adore is _really_ fast, and she drags Trixie along with her. By the time the group gets moving and into the theater, Adore is already grabbing an acoustic guitar from one of the musicians and is handing it to Trixie. She points at the stage and urges Trixie to go up.

Trixie sort of looks in a daze, but her movements are still deliberate. Once on the stage, she puts the strap of the guitar around her body and starts plucking on the strings, strumming, getting a feel for the instrument. Katya and the rest of the group file into the first few rows and sit, waiting. Katya already knows how good this is going to be — she feels special. She was the first of them to hear Trixie sing like this.

David holds up his phone and nods, and Trixie nods back.

“So, this is a song by one of the best, Dolly Parton,” Trixie says. She plucks the first few notes and then starts strumming. “ _I grew up poor and ragged, just a simple country girl. I wanted to be pretty more than anything in the world, like Barbie or the models in the Fredrick’s catalog. From rags to wishes in my dreams, I could have it all_.”

It’s more of a story than a song, and the way Trixie is singing it, it’s like she wrote it instead of Dolly.

“ _I’m just a backwoods Barbie, too much makeup, too much hair. Don’t be fooled by thinkin’ that the goods are not all there. Don’t let these false eyelashes lead you to believe that I’m as shallow as I look, ‘cause I run true and deep._ ”

Katya wants to cry. She feels the hollow loneliness deep in her chest, knows that Trixie felt like an outcast in her family, in her town. She even looks like a Barbie, with her thick blonde hair and beautiful face. As Trixie continues singing, she opens up more — though it’s a solemn song, she radiates energy unlike ever before. She was made to do this.

“ _I’ve always been misunderstood because of how I look. Don’t judge me by my cover, ‘cause I’m a real good book. So read into it what you will, but see me as I am. The way I look is just a country girl’s idea of glam_ ,” Trixie sings. The guitar is forgotten, her hands play as though she doesn’t even need to think about it. She catches Katya’s eyes and the corner of her lip turns up. “ _I’m just a backwoods Barbie in a push-up bra and heels. I might look artificial, but where it counts I’m real. And I’m all dolled up and hopin’ for a chance to prove my worth, and even backwoods Barbies get their feelings hurt._ ”

Katya feels Asia settle further into her seat beside her, captivated by Trixie. Even Danny looks impressed despite the fact that he’s focused on getting a good video.

“ _I’m just a backwoods Barbie, too much makeup, too much hair. Don’t be fooled by thinkin’ that the goods are not all there. Yes, I can see where I could be misjudged upon first glance, but even backwoods Barbies deserve a second chance. And I’m just a backwoods Barbie asking for a second chance._ ” Trixie slows down for the first time, strumming slower. “ _Backwoods Barbie_.”

With a few more notes, the song ends. There’s a beat of silence; then, their little crowd erupts in applause. It’s like the cast hasn’t heard Trixie sing before, and Katya supposes they haven’t heard her sing something like this — something so true to her life and style. Trixie let them all into her heart in that beautiful moment.

Danny stops the video and puts his phone back in his pocket, clapping with them. “Amazing job, Trixie.”

“Thank you,” she calls from the stage. She hands the guitar over the edge and to its owner, and then goes down the stairs to meet them.

“I’ll send this over to Garrett and have him take a look,” Danny says. He takes out his phone again. “What’s your contact information?”

Trixie gives him her name, number, and email, and then he steps away to say goodbye to Adore. Trixie is overtaken by the group, Ben and Asia and Kim putting their arms around her. Bob snags Kennedy and Adore and Kameron and puts his arms around _all_ of them. Bianca joins, then Katya. It’s a little huddle, and they’re all laughing and chattering and congratulating Trixie. Katya’s happy for her, but she just wants to be closer to her.

“You guys are the best,” Trixie says, “but I’m getting a little too hot. Group hug over.”

No one complains, and they disperse. Bianca claps her hands. “Okay, everyone. Intermission is over, let’s get going again.”

Adore groans, but she goes with the rest of them. Before Trixie can walk away, Katya grabs her arm. Her heart is fucking pounding so hard that she feels like she can barely control her body, but she stays still. Trixie looks at her with those beautiful, soft brown eyes.

“You were stunning,” Katya says.

Trixie smiles at her feet for a moment. “Thanks.”

“Come here.” Katya reaches her arms out, wide, and Trixie hugs her close. It’s _everything_. “You’re going to get a record deal!”

“Maybe, yeah. And I know you told him I write songs, so thank you for that,” Trixie says, pulling away from Katya. Katya’s hands slide to her shoulders.

“I was, uh, wondering…” Katya’s fingers flex gently on Trixie’s shoulders. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out tonight, to celebrate.”

Trixie smiles so brightly that Katya can barely stand it; she wants to kiss her, feel that smile on her lips. “I’d love to.”

“Okay.”

“Great.” Trixie nods, and then they laugh, falling into each other.

“I’ll text you the details,” Katya says.

She wants to say more — that she wants it to be a date, that she’d give her whole arm and more just to have Trixie feel the same way about her as Katya does about Trixie. This is the first time in a long time that Katya has felt like this about anyone. She won’t fuck this up, even if it means waiting, never telling Trixie just to keep her in her life.

“Lesbians!” Bianca calls from across the theater. “Let’s fucking go! We have a show to rehearse!”

* * *

By the time Trixie gets out of the shower and goes into her room, half of her clothes are strewn across her bed and some of them are hanging over Kim’s arms.

Adore turns around, nearly knocking Trixie over in the process. “Good, you’re back. We need you to decide something.”

“You say that as though I’m not the one wearing the outfit?” Trixie towels out her hair and lets it fall over her shoulders. “Show me.”

“Exhibit A, a beautiful and elegant gold dress,” Kim says, extending the arm that holds the dress, “and Exhibit B, a simple black cocktail dress.”

Trixie pretends to consider them, even though she knows which one she wants. “Black isn’t really my color, I just have that from a funeral I went to last year.”

“Damn it,” Adore grumbles.

“Sorry.” Trixie laughs and takes the gold dress from Kim. Kim hangs the black dress in her closet. “Are you guys sure it’s this fancy?” She holds up the dress so it shimmers in the orange sunlight.

Kim scoffs. “It’s Jacques’. It’s _really_ fancy.”

Trixie nods. She unzips the dress and takes it into her bathroom, drops her towel on the ground and puts it on. It fits her well — really well, with a plunging neckline that shows her boobs and the rest tight to amplify her curves. It’s not short, exactly, but it definitely stops a good few inches above her knees.

She styles her hair, combs it and adds product so that it will be shiny when it dries. As she starts on her makeup, Adore and Kim come to the doorway.

“What?” Trixie asks. She pauses her eyeshadow to look at them. They are practically hovering.

“We’re just excited for you,” Adore says. “This is a big deal.”

“It’s not.”

Kim shakes her head. “It is.”

“Katya’s only taken one other person to Jacques’ since I’ve known her, and she was pretty serious about that girl.” Adore steps into the bathroom to mess with Trixie’s hair. It tickles her scalp and sends a shiver down her spine. “This is a big deal, Trixie.”

So, it’s a big deal. Trixie knows it, she _wants_ it to be a big deal. There’s really no evidence to suggest that Katya isn’t into her — except for the fact that she hasn’t said anything in all these weeks that they’ve been flirting, or whatever it is they’re doing. Trixie doesn’t blame her, since she hasn’t been the most transparent with Katya, either — about how she accepted her sexuality, how much she likes Katya, or even the fact that, in almost six months, she’ll have a child.

“Well, it’s perfect, then,” Trixie says, and she tries to hide her smirk as she finishes her eyeshadow and moves on to eyeliner.

“Perfect for what?” Adore asks.

Trixie finishes her liner and picks up her mascara. “Perfect for me to tell Katya that I’m into her.”

Kim and Adore squeal so loudly that Trixie’s worried her mirror will crack, and she can’t have that, not until she’s finished her makeup. Trixie laughs.

“I’m so happy for you,” Kim says.

Adore hugs her from behind — gently, because she’s doing her lipstick now. “You two are going to be the cutest couple since me and Bianca.”

“Okay, chill out.” Trixie does one last swipe of her lipstick and adds a touch of blush. “One, I don’t know if she feels the same, yet— don’t say a word, Adore, just let me finish.” Trixie points at her through the mirror, and Adore shrinks back. Trixie puts her makeup down and turns around. “Two, I’m only weeks away from starting to show. She might react badly, and I might lose her _and_ my job. I’m just thinking in the short term, here.”

Kim takes Trixie’s hand and squeezes it. “I really don’t think Katya would leave you over something like that, but your feelings are valid. Just remember that you are the shit, and Katya thinks so, too.”

“Come on, guys, the time for sentimentality is over,” Adore says, holding up her phone. “It’s almost seven-thirty. Bianca’s here, and Trixie has a date to get to.”

“Right.” Trixie checks herself in the mirror once more, and — yeah, she is the shit. She thinks Katya is going to die when she sees her.

Kim and Adore follow her out of the bathroom. They hold her up while she steps into her nude heels and remind her to take her keys and her phone, because she’s too nervous to remember herself. When they get to the sidewalk, Trixie sees Bianca’s grey Lexus at the curb.

Adore pulls her into a hug. “By the way, Bianca was helping Katya get ready, and she’s nervous as fuck. You’re not the only one, okay? You’re not alone.”

It makes Trixie feel a little bit better, but her stomach is still twisted. She hugs Kim, who squeezes her tight.

“I love you guys.”

Kim smiles. “We love you too, Trix. Have fun!”

“Use protection,” Adore says, then laughs. “Actually, it’s a little late for that.”

Trixie rolls her eyes. “Wow, good one.”

“Come on.” Kim pulls Adore towards Bianca’s car, and they get in. Bianca waves through the windshield before driving off.

The sidewalk is barren, heat radiating off of it. It’s time for Trixie to get in her truck and drive to Katya’s. Still, she stands on the sidewalk for a moment, just thinking. Thinking about what her life was like the first time she stood in front of that shitty, dilapidated apartment building — the only place the could make a deal with the landlord to pay rent weekly, in small amounts, instead of signing a lease she’d never be able to afford. She was alone and just barely pregnant, hadn’t even seen a doctor yet.

Now, she has a family. She has Bianca and Adore, Kim and Asia, Kam, Kennedy, Ben and Bob. She has two jobs that she loves — yes, even waitressing at the diner, because of Addie — and she’s probably about to sign with a record label. Now, she is letting herself feel what she was meant to feel this entire time. She loves women, has loved them, will _always_ love them, and she isn’t afraid of what her stepdad or anyone else will do because of it.

Now, she’s on her way to go on a date with Katya — this beautiful woman, this crazy, morbid, hilarious enigma of a human being, who was the first person to see in her the talent that not even Trixie could see in herself.

Trixie stands on the sidewalk for a moment, but not a beat longer than that, because it’s time for her to get in her truck and drive to Katya’s, and that’s exactly what she does. She wrenches the door of her truck shut, smoothes her dress, and puts the car in drive. Halfway to Katya’s, she realizes that she hasn’t been using Google Maps.

It’s only a few more minutes before she pulls up to the curb outside of Katya’s blue building. She sends her a quick text and then hops out of the car, heels clacking on the curb and crunching over dust. In mere moments, Katya bounds out of the elevator and pushes open the front door.

Trixie gasps, and she hopes Katya can’t hear it. She couldn’t help herself — Katya is in a black shirt with a wide, white checked pattern, tucked into a black skirt made of thin strips of leather. It’s a short fucking skirt, and Trixie’s sure if she moves just so, her ass will be _out_. Katya is tall — not as tall as Trixie, of course — but her legs look longer than ever in fishnet tights that are literally stoned at every cross section.

Trixie has been staring at Katya too long, but that’s okay, because Katya has been staring, too.

“You look amazing,” Trixie says. She reaches out and brushes Katya’s hand with her fingertips.

“Are you surprised?”

Trixie smiles. “Yes, actually. You usually look like shit.” She rolls her eyes, and Katya laughs. “I’m serious, Katya. You’re beautiful.”

“And you’re gorgeous.” Katya steps closer to her, her own heels now crunching on the sidewalk. Trixie turns around and opens the car door for her, helping her climb into the truck and then shutting it. “Thank you, kind sir.”

Trixie rounds the car and gets in as gracefully as she can. She picks up her phone from the center console and hands it to Katya, unlocked. “Put the address in, please.”

Katya does as asked, and then they pull away from the curb and head towards the restaurant. They’re silent, but Katya isn’t even secretive with the looks she’s giving Trixie. Trixie imagines that Katya is looking at the way her breasts are practically spilling out of the dress — they’ve gotten bigger, of course, and she’s had the dress for at least a year, now. Katya’s gaze on her should make her nervous, but it only makes her feel even more confident.

There’s a valet service in front of the restaurant, and Trixie is suddenly self-conscious of how her old truck stands out next to Bentleys and Maseratis. Then, she realizes just how nice this restaurant is, based on the Bentleys and Maseratis. _Holy fuck_ , she thinks. This really is a big deal.

Katya gets out of the truck and greets the valet who opened the door for her like she’s just stepped out of a sports car, so Trixie tries to do the same. She hands off the key to the valet and takes the ticket he gives her.

Katya is waiting for her on the sidewalk, her arm extended. “Ready?” When Trixie nods, Katya puts her hand on Trixie’s lower back. Trixie feels like a fucking trophy wife, and she doesn’t hate it.

“What is the name for the reservation, miss?” the maitre d’ asks when they reach his podium.

“Zamolodchikova.”

While the man looks through his reservation book, Trixie has a chance to scan the restaurant. A grand piano sits just beside them at the entrance, and the player is on his bench. He wears sunglasses and has a grey standard poodle at his side — he’s blind and still playing the most beautiful tune to match the room. Beyond him is a gold-trimmed bar with a few patrons in the stools. The women wear white dresses with matching fur stoles, even in the hottest part of summer, and the men match in black evening coats or white sport jackets. There are a few occupied tables near the bar, and people speak over the din of silverware clinking on plates.

Trixie feels a tug on her arm. The maitre d’ is taking them to their table, so Trixie allows herself to be guided by Katya. They go past the piano and the bar, past the fur stoles and tables, through a door at the side of the restaurant Trixie hadn’t seen. They step out into a courtyard, and then Trixie’s gasping again.

The courtyard is filled with tables that are surrounded by the walls of the restaurant, which stretches into another building across the courtyard. Palm trees hug the buildings and delicate string lights wind their way up the trunks. The maitre d’ brings them to their table, tucked into a corner and beneath two trees that seclude them from other tables nearby. The table has a white cloth, of course, as well as three candles and a vase with a single pink rose.

Trixie sits as the maitre d’ pushes in her chair behind her and does the same for Katya. He offers each a menu, and then puts the drink menu down, as well. The napkins are white, but he exchanges Katya’s for a black one before walking away.

Katya sees Trixie looking at her, confused. “For my skirt.” Katya lays the black napkin in her lap. “So the white lint doesn’t get on it.”

Trixie nods, then places her own napkin in her lap. It’s not long before their water glasses are filled by a busboy in a pressed white shirt. The sun is low in the sky, its rays blocked by the buildings, so the trees and candles begin to glow.

“I didn’t know you were so boujee,” Trixie says, and Katya stares at her. “Sorry, are you too old for that word? It means _high-class_.”

Katya laughs. “I know what boujee means. I’m just not it.”

“Katya, look around.”

“Well, okay, I know it’s super nice here, but I’m not rich.” Katya glares at Trixie when she rolls her eyes. “I wanted to take you somewhere special. It’s not every day you get a record deal, and it’s not every day you go to a restaurant like this.” She raises her hands and looks at the trees, the fountain bubbling at the center of the courtyard.

“You’re too generous with me,” Trixie says. She picks at the corner of her menu.

Katya’s staring at her, and it feels like she’s trying to tell Trixie everything she knows and feels. “You deserve it.”

Trixie looks down to hide her blush. She can’t believe that after six weeks of this she’s still blushing, but that’s what Katya does to her. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Do you have any recommendations?” Trixie asks, and the quick shift in conversation throws Katya off.

“Oh, uh, the duck is really good, and the linguine.” Katya shifts her bangs and tucks an errant strand of wavy hair behind her ear. “Do you want me to order you a drink? They won’t mind if they see you with it, I just have to order it.”

“No, thank you.”

Katya smiles and shakes her head. “Why haven’t you been drinking?” Katya’s eyes go wide as soon as she asks, and Trixie laughs. “I mean, not that I’m pressuring you, or whatever. I just assumed— you’re a college kid, you’re smart and seem like you know your limits. Wow, that sounds stupid.”

Trixie laughs again. Normally, this line of questioning would make her sweat with panic, but not tonight. “You’re right, I liked to drink at college, but I just like being sober around you. I don’t want to forget a thing.”

It’s not a lie to cover up her pregnancy — she doesn’t want to miss anything when she’s with Katya, not a glance that she tries to hide or a dazzling smile.

Katya looks down, letting her hair fall into her face to hide her blush. “Hey, it’s your birthday soon, right? Your twenty-first?”

Trixie had almost forgotten about that, she’s been so busy with work and the show, the baby and her friends, even with Katya — somehow she hasn’t found time to think about the most important birthday of all. She can’t even believe she’s almost to twenty-one.

“Uh, yeah,” Trixie says, “in a little over a week.”

“That’s a really good reason to drink, even if I’m there. We’ll have to do something with Adore and Kim.” Katya is already planning a whole evening in her head, Trixie can tell. She doesn’t have the heart to try and stop her with some excuse for why she won’t drink then, either.

Trixie nods. “That might be fun.”

“Might be? Rude, it’ll be great.”

“Yeah.” Trixie stares at Katya, smiles just a little. She wants Katya to know that anything will be perfect as long as she is there.

She thinks that Katya knows, now, just from the look in Trixie’s eyes. Katya stares at her, mouth parted just slightly, like she’s never seen Trixie before.

“Jesus.”

“What?” Trixie asks.

Katya’s red lips are pulling into a smile even as she snags one between her teeth. “Nothing, you’re just—”

“Stunning, spectacular, outstanding, the greatest person you’ve ever met?” Trixie can barely get through the sentence without screaming with laughter.

“Well, I was going to say cute, but you’re just a rotted, gutted gila monster,” Katya says, nudging Trixie’s shin with her toe under the tablecloth.

Now Trixie’s screaming with laugher, and she tries to contain it before LA’s high society glares at her country-ass laugh. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“I don’t—” Katya’s holding onto the bottom of her chair to keep from keeling over with laughter. “I don’t know, I don’t even know.”

Trixie hates that she smokes, but she loves her smoker laugh — it’s so ridiculous. They aren’t even done laughing when the waiter walks over, and he tries to keep the smirk off of his face as they try to collect themselves. He thinks they’re absolute fools.

“Good evening, ladies, welcome to Jacques’. My name is Trey, I’ll be your waiter tonight. Can I get you something to drink?”

The drink menu has sat on the table, untouched, this whole time. Katya picks it up and hands it to him. “I think we’re fine with water, thank you.” She looks at Trixie. “Are you ready to order dinner?”

“Yes.” She picks up her menu and scans it quickly before deciding. “May I please have the linguine with extra mushrooms?”

Trey nods as he takes her menu.

“I’ll have the salmon, please,” Katya says, and then she gives her menu, as well.

“Very good, ladies. I’ll send some bread to your table in a moment.”

Katya smiles at him. “Thank you, Trey.”

They’re silent for a moment, just smiling at each other comfortably. Katya takes a sip of water.

“So, what do you like to read?” Trixie asks.

Katya laughs under her breath and looks at Trixie like she’s said something completely random. “Uh, Tolstoy, Nabokov, and Dostoevsky, but only in Russian.” Her accent is thick when she says Russian names, and Trixie loves how deep and expressive it is. “Also Lenin.”

“Are you a communist?” It’s mostly a joke, but Trixie is curious anyway.

“No, and yes.”

Trixie puts her elbow on the table and props her chin on her hand, getting closer to Katya. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Russian politics are a mess and they aren’t very simple, but I know that the Soviets did a lot of really bad things and killed a lot of people,” Katya says. “I’m not a communist, though I like reading Lenin. Politically, yes, I lean more socialist. You know, taxing the fuck out of the rich, police abolition, universal healthcare, raising the minimum wage. The good stuff.”

“Interesting.” Trixie bites her lip — she’s not surprised, not at all, Katya is the best person she knows.

One of the busboys brings them a tray of bread and leans down next to Trixie to let her see the options. She points at the pretzel roll and and he puts it on her bread plate. Katya chooses a salt stick. The busboy walks away.

“What about you?” Katya asks.

“Don’t hate me,” Trixie says, looking down. She can only mumble. “I’m a registered Republican.”

Katya leans forward. “I'm sorry, what was that?”

“I’m a registered Republican.”

“I was really hoping I’d misheard you.” Katya looks like she’s halfway out of her seat already, and she looks away, turning back to Trixie quickly. “Why?”

Trixie’s quick to answer. “Okay, so I was never really on board with the Republicans— well, I was when I was a kid and didn’t know what I was talking about, because my parents just told me what to think. I was actually pretty ambivalent about politics until right before I registered, but when I did my stepdad literally watched me fill out the form.”

“Oh.” Katya leans forward on the table. “So you’re not actually a Republican?”

“I’ve never voted Republican, no. I just never had a chance to change my party.”

Katya puts her hand on her chest and leans back in her chair dramatically. “Thank God. I really thought I was going to have to leave you here.”

“I wouldn’t blame you.” Trixie smiles and brings her water to her lips. “I had a teacher in high school who said, ‘Okay, remember to vote before class tomorrow, and if you’re voting Democratic, feel free to sleep in.’” Katya’s jaw drops, and Trixie laughs a little. “He also told me that being gay was illegal, and when I looked it up and told him it wasn’t, he said it should be.”

“Jesus. I went to Catholic school, and the nuns sucked, but they weren’t that outwardly bad.” Katya smiles smugly. “They only said something when they caught me with a girl behind the bleachers.”

“Ugh, you’re such a cliche.”

“Sorry that you’re jealous of my game in high school,” Katya says, shrugging.

Trixie nods. “You’re right, I am.”

“Seriously?” Katya actually looks surprised, and the way she’s just starting to smile is adorable.

Trixie’s heart rate picks up. Katya is the person she feels closest to, is so drawn to, and is one of her best friends. It’s time to talk to her about this.

“If I were half as confident as you in high school, maybe it wouldn’t have taken me this long to not hate that part of me,” Trixie says.

“What… what part of you?”

Trixie takes a long sip of water, then a deep breath. “The part that is gay as all-fuck.”

Katya’s smile stretches across her whole face. She looks at Trixie, not moving even to blink. This is _the_ moment that Trixie will never forget, she thinks. She waits for what Katya will say, but she knows that in a few moments she’s going to tell her — she’s going to tell Katya that she really, really likes her and wants to kiss her, and maybe go home with her, hold her, never let her go.

Trixie opens her mouth to speak, but Trey arrives at their table with their plates. He places Katya’s salmon in front of her, and then gives Trixie her linguine — the moment of truth has well and truly passed at this point. Trey holds out a small dish of grated cheese for Trixie.

“Parmesan?”

Trixie nods. “Please.”

He puts a few scoops on her dish and then steps away. “Can I get you anything else?” Katya’s already a forkful into her salmon, and both she and Trixie shake their heads. “Bon appetite, ladies.”

They eat and talk about Trixie’s love of makeup, Katya’s secret decorative knife collection (which probably should freak Trixie out, but she kind of loves how weird it is). The food is great — Trixie’s never had better linguine, and she steals a bite of salmon from Katya, which is also fantastic. When they finish eating, Trey is quick to bring out a large slice of chocolate cake. _Congratulations!_ is written on the side of the dish in chocolate sauce.

Trixie smiles at Katya, then pulls out her phone to take a picture of the cake. “This is adorable, Kat.”

“It’s a special occasion.” Katya shrugs. “Hurry up, Gen Z, I want a bite.”

“I’m a millennial.” Trixie puts her phone down and picks up her fork, fighting Katya’s away so she can have the first bite.

“Barely,” Katya says, finally scooping a piece of cake.

They finish it quickly, and then Katya pays the check. Trixie feels guilty, but she’d never be able to afford this kind of restaurant. At least she attempted to argue with Katya over it.

Trixie gives the valet ticket to the maitre d’, and he flags the valet to get her truck. It gives them a few moments inside the restaurant to listen to the piano player. Trixie bends over to pet the dog while Katya puts a few bills in the tip jar that sits atop the black-lacquered piano. Trixie stands and goes to Katya, leaning into her side, and Katya puts an arm around her waist. She’s angular and bony, but her body is strong and soft and Trixie feels so safe with her.

The truck is sitting at the curb, the maitre d’ tells them, and they follow him outside so he can help Katya into the car. The valet helps Trixie, and she gives him a tip. Trixie doesn’t want to leave this place and end her night with Katya — but she puts the car in drive and pulls into the street.

Trixie has three very simple words to say: _I like you_ , or the alternate, _I’m into you._ She stays silent, though. Every time she starts to move her jaw, her stomach practically flips and she thinks she’s going to throw up. She should have practiced this earlier, although that would have been stupid, a little psychotic, and it probably wouldn't have helped.

She tries a mantra that sort of sounds like Bianca and Adore telling her that she needs to communicate openly. Well, she’s done a lot of communicating tonight, already, and she guesses that her meter is running low. By the time she pulls up to Katya’s apartment, she’s started to talk herself out of saying anything at all, figures she’ll do it later — but when is later?

Still, she keeps her mouth shut — well figuratively, because her lips are parted in a last-ditch attempt to _just fucking tell Katya_ she likes her.

“Well…” Katya says, and her eyes flick to Trixie’s lips, returning to her gaze guiltily. Katya seems to shrink back into the seat. “Congratulations, again.”

She looks so defeated as she unbuckles her seatbelt, looking back at Trixie one last time, waiting for _something_ before opening the door and climbing out of the truck. Trixie wants to bang her head on the steering wheel; she is absolutely fucking this up to the point that she might have just ruined her chances. Katya looked so _sad_.

Galvanized, Trixie finally regains control of her body. She jumps out of the truck, not bothering to turn off the engine or take the keys out — no one’s going to steal that old hunk of metal, she thinks. She runs around the car and over the sidewalk.

“Katya, wait.” She’s an arm’s length away, and she reaches for Katya just as Katya turns around. The timing is perfect, really, and she uses this psychological momentum to put her other hand on Katya’s cheek and kiss her.

Trixie _kisses_ her.

Katya doesn’t miss a beat, just goes with it unquestioningly. Her arms rest on Trixie’s shoulders, her hands linking behind Trixie’s head. She moves slightly closer to Trixie, but it almost throws Trixie off balance. Trixie is not really sure that she’s still on the planet, honestly. In all her limited experience, she has never had a kiss like this. Her chest tingles with a warmth that grows infinitely greater the longer they kiss. She fits with Katya perfectly, like they’ve been kissing each other for centuries, like Trixie was made for Katya.

After a little, Trixie starts to remember that they’re still on a sidewalk in the middle of Los Angeles, kissing in the dark, and she also remembers that they’ve talked about absolutely nothing. She’s so, so happy kissing Katya, but the fact that she’s now done the opposite of what she knows she was supposed to do freaks her out.

Trixie pulls back, and Katya’s lips practically chase hers. She rests her forehead on Katya’s. “So, yeah.” Katya opens her eyes and looks at her, and she’s so close she can see all the little stripes of blue and green in her irises. “Thank you for dinner.”

She kisses Katya once more, strokes her thumb over her cheek, and then walks away. She gets in her truck and drives off, only letting out a long breath once she’s at a red light. Her heart is racing, and she has to lean back in her seat and close her eyes to slow it. Her smile is practically painted on her face. It won’t go away any time soon.

“Holy fuck.”

A car horn startles her eyes open, and she realizes the light is green. She drives the rest of the way very aware of her body; those fingers that flip her turn signal just combed through Katya’s hair, her right toes are hitting the gas pedal, but they had just nudged Katya’s toes as _she kissed her_.

She’ll never forget the way Katya felt pressed against her — not like their sleepovers, because this time their lips met and it was an emotional closeness, a connection that couldn’t be severed even if they tried. Trixie wants to do it again, again, again, can’t stop thinking about it now. She doesn’t stop thinking about it, not when she gets home and strips out of her dress — the dress she was wearing when she kissed Katya — and washes her face — the face that kissed Katya. Sleep doesn’t come easy, not when she can still feel Katya against her lips, and not when she wants more than just that kiss.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> y'all are NOT ready (part two the remix)

It’s not the first time Trixie is running late for rehearsal, but it is the last, because it’s the fucking dress rehearsal and tomorrow is opening night. She’s not even pressed about it — she’s going as fast as she can, of course, but she’s not that late. She still takes time in the middle of brushing her teeth to think about kissing Katya.

Katya.

She doesn’t even know what she’s going to do when she sees her. Probably, she’ll melt on the spot. Trixie has only kissed two people — one got her pregnant, the other is her employer who contributed heavily to her full gay awakening, and she hasn’t handled either situation well to date. But what she felt with Katya was real, and it has promise that Trixie can feel growing inside her faster than her baby.

Fuck, the Goddamn baby. It might be the first time she’s thought about that since she kissed Katya, here as she applies her concealer in her bathroom. So, there’s still this roadblock that is suddenly scaring Trixie. Now that she’s had a taste of being with Katya, she knows what she has to lose, but she can’t choose one or the other. It’s too late now. Maybe she can have both, if she—

Trixie’s phone buzzes, and she realizes the existential thinking is slowing her down. She taps on the screen.

 **Adore Delano:** Bitch, you have ten minutes to get to this theater or Bianca is literally going to kill you.

Apparently she really _is_ that late, and _now_ she’s pressed to get out of the apartment. She decides that Kim can finish her makeup at the theater, and it doesn’t matter what she’s wearing because she’s going to change into her costume, anyway.

Trixie is getting off of the subway near the theater when she realizes she never ate breakfast. There’s a deli in the station, but the line is so long that she doesn’t even need to check the time to know not to try. She settles for buying a bottle of water from a vendor in hopes that it’ll somehow hold her until lunch.

By the time she gets to the theater, she’s already exhausted — but she’s made it in record time, she thinks. No one is in the seats, of course, so she just dashes onto the stage and runs through the curtains, past the microphone sets and prop tables, and into the hallway. The whole cast is in the dressing room, already in costumes and working on hair and makeup.

Kim looks up from Adore’s face and sees her. “Jesus, Trixie. Come here.” She practically shoves Adore out of the chair, grabs Trixie’s arm, and sits her down on it. “You’re a mess. Adore, go get her costume.”

Adore heads back to the costume closet. While Kim roots through her makeup bag to get Trixie started, Trixie starts peeling off her shirt. She doesn’t care that the boys are in the dressing room — she doesn’t have time to, and she trusts them. Kim presses a wet brush to her face and starts on contouring. Adore comes back quickly with Trixie’s waitress outfit, a cheese danish in her hand.

“Thanks. Can I have a bite, please? I didn’t eat breakfast.” Trixie pushes against Kim, who’s trying to keep her in place, and takes a bite of the pastry that Adore sticks in her face.

“Long night?” Adore asks before eating the danish.

“Sort of,” Trixie mumbles.

Adore gasps, leans in close. Flecks of pastry get on Trixie’s costume as she pulls it on. “Did you do it? Did you tell her?”

“Sort of.”

“Adore, please,” Kim says, holding up a hand to keep Adore out of her way. “I love you, but go do something else. We don’t have time for this.”

Adore rolls her eyes and stomps away. Trixie feels a little bad for her, but then she remembers that they’re doing two rehearsals, the first one with Kim and the second with Adore, and suddenly she’s jealous. Adore just gets to sit around and eat pastries for hours.

“Where’s Katya?” Trixie asks quietly. Kim is very focused and trying to move as quickly as she can, so she doesn’t want to interrupt. She’s just curious.

“Shouldn’t you know that?” Kim’s tongue sticks out a little in concentration, and Trixie would laugh if she weren’t freaking out over a number of things.

“No.”

Kim stops her work on Trixie’s eyebrows for a moment. “Did something bad happen?”

“Definitely not, no,” Trixie says. She shifts her eyes around because she can’t move her head. No one is listening. “I kissed her, Kim.”

It takes a little for Kim to respond, mostly because she’s doing intricate work on Trixie’s face. She makes a noise in the back of her throat, though, and Trixie knows she’s paying attention.

“I’m really happy for you, I promise.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a light pink for Trixie’s lips. “Was it everything you dreamed of, and more?”

“It was indescribably good.”

The door to the dressing room slams open, and it’s like the air is sucked out of the room. A chill literally goes down Trixie’s spine. Bianca is fuming.

“We’re late. Why are we late?” Bianca has never been like this, and it’s stressing Trixie out even more. She knows this is close to the real deal, so Bianca expects a lot — but maybe she should invest in some anti-anxiety medication. “Get your fucking makeup on and get your asses backstage, or I will fire all of you so fast—”

Okay, make that anti-psychotic medication.

Adore steps in, thankfully. “Oh my God, Willow, you’re being a drama queen.”

Trixie expects Bianca to freak out on her, but it actually _works_. Adore puts a hand on Bianca’s back and rubs while Bianca closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose, and takes deep breaths.

“Please try to hurry up, everyone,” Bianca says with a practiced softness.

“We’re literally ready.” Kim tosses her lipstick back in her bag and pulls Trixie up from her chair. The rest of the cast nods.

“Well, fine.” Bianca points towards the stage door. “Let’s start, then.”

Kim zips the back of Trixie’s costume and pushes her backstage. Trixie is honestly glad for all the help. She won’t admit it, but her head feels a little fuzzy. The rush of the morning and the pace at which everything is moving today makes her feel like she’s getting left behind — but there’s no time for that, because she’s in the wing with Kim and Asia getting their microphones, and they are moments from starting.

Trixie looks down at her costume, which is pretty much identical to her actual work outfit. She touches her belly. “What do I do when I start showing?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Kim says. “You have the costumes that are bigger for the end of the show. I guess you wear those.”

Asia nods. “And you won’t have to wear that pregnancy belly.”

“I hate that thing.” Trixie laughs. “Fuck. Well, Bianca will probably fire me by then, anyway.”

One of the techs backstage nudges Trixie’s arm and tells her she’s on. She shuffles onto the stage in the dark, positions herself in front of her little baking table, and takes a breath. This is it — well almost it, but this is the last _it_ before the real _it_ , and that’s something.

Trixie is freaking out.

The spotlight turns on at the same time the music does.

“ _Sugar_.”

Trixie sings that first word of the show, and everything feels okay. The synthesizers repeat the word for her, and then she adds _butter_ and _flour_ until they produce a beautiful round. She starts her voice overtop of it, carrying on with the song.

“ _My hands pluck the things I know that I’ll need. I’ll take the sugar and butter from the pantry_ ,” Trixie sings, demonstrating with the props in front of her. It’s real sugar, butter, and flour, the last of which sends a cloud of dust into the air. It fights with her lungs, but she wins, finishing the song. “ _My whole life is in here, in this kitchen baking. What a mess I’m making_.”

Kennedy calls for Jenna from across the stage, and the lights come up. They’re in the diner, everyone sitting at tables or running around — _opening up_ , as the next song goes. Kim and Asia join her on stage, and they start their song about their mundane, monotonous life at the diner. The song ends with the ensemble joining together.

Trixie finally sees Katya for the first time — on stage, sitting at a table behind a large newspaper. She still has to stand in as Joe, since this RuPaul character isn’t joining them until opening night. It’s funny to see Katya here, pretending to be a grumpy old man — and it’s weird that their first words to each other after their kiss aren’t their words, at all — Trixie saying Jenna’s words, Katya saying Joe’s.

“Howdy Joe, what’ll it be?” Trixie asks. There’s no stopping today, so she just has to keep going.

Katya isn’t making it easy, though, when she winks at Trixie. “It’s warm in here, I’m warm.”

Pulling through the full show without breaks is like running a marathon, but it’s really fun. Everything feels organic, energetic, and now they don’t get interrupted by Bianca every so often. Trixie is finally able to fully immerse herself in it, to live it rather than recite it.

They don’t even stop for intermission, because they’ll have to do another run-through with Adore after lunch and they want to leave the theater at a reasonable time. It goes song after song, scene after scene, and Trixie is in almost all of them. By the time they get to “You Matter to Me,” Trixie’s exhaustion is weighing on her. She’s thankful they at least get an intermission in the actual show.

Kameron’s arms are around her when they finish the duet, and he takes her off stage. She only has a few minutes to change costumes and get ready for the next scene, Dawn and Ogie’s wedding. Trixie tries to step into a new dress and she sways. Kam grabs her elbow and holds her up.

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

Trixie nods. “Fine, I just didn’t eat a lot for breakfast.”

“If you need to sit down, you can. I’m sure we can take a little break.” Kam is still holding her up, and when she realizes, she puts her weight on her feet.

“I’ll make it to lunch.” Trixie smiles at him and pinches his cheek. “Thanks for helping me.”

Ben serenades Kim with Ogie’s wedding vows, and Kim pretends to beat on the pots in the diner for the drum line Dawn has composed in leu of vows. They kiss and are married, then the dialogue starts. Trixie speaks with Kennedy, then Asia scoops her up to dance. Katya cuts in a few minutes later with Joe’s lines. They banter back and forth, and then Katya takes her in her arms to dance.

Trixie has practiced this with Bob as Joe, before, while Katya choreographed. It was a little choppy, since Trixie isn’t used to this kind of moment in a scene. In Katya’s arms, though, she feels more stable than ever.

Joe is supposed to sing a song called “Take It From An Old Man,” but Katya refused to sing, so the band plays it like an instrumental. It’s a twangy, slow song that’s about an old, cranky man having a moment of vulnerability and giving advice to Jenna. Without the words, it just feels romantic. Katya’s hand is firm on her lower back, and her face is closer than it would be if she were _actually_ an old man.

Trixie forgets that they are on stage, for a moment, and that their friends — their family — are watching. She wants to kiss her, is fighting with the part of her that does. Katya moves in, just slightly, and Trixie can see that Katya feels the same, but it’s a losing battle for her. So Trixie keeps it together, just bites her lip and winks at Katya.

The scene is interrupted by Bob, as an angry Earl, come to drag Jenna away and berate her for hiding money from him. Trixie fights the urge to look back at Katya with everything she has and goes with the scene.

They finally get to that climactic part, the moment where Jenna is on the table in Dr. Pomatter’s office, about to give birth.

“I don’t want no baby Earl!” Trixie screams. The oven timer sound-effect goes off, symbolically ushering in the baby.

Kameron holds the plastic baby. “It’s a girl!”

Jenna is asked if she wants to hold her baby, and Trixie turns away, too scared of what this means for her life and her future. She can fucking relate, here.

“Give her to me,” Trixie whispers. She looks into that stupid babydoll’s eyes and, just for a second, pretends like it’s real. “Oh my God…”

The ensemble harmonizes on an _ooh_. Trixie wonders if this is what it’ll feel like when she holds her baby — her daughter, hopefully — if it’ll be this epiphany, like there’s nothing in the world that could bring her greater joy than those tiny hands and pair of eyes that Jenna sings about.

She really fucking hopes this is what it will feel like.

* * *

Katya stands at the back of the stage in the dark. It’s the end of this really beautiful scene where Jenna finds strength in her new child’s potential and dumps her awful husband. She sings about being born again with the birth of her baby, and promises to do everything she can for it. Trixie is so compelling that Katya almost forgot to get in position.

“‘To my only friend,’” Trixie reads from a card, still holding the plastic baby. “Start fresh. I’m leaving you the pie shop— name a pie for me when I’m gone.”

The ensemble _oohs_ like a choir of angels. Trixie turns around when the yellow spotlight hits Katya — she’s playing a dead man, now, so she tries to look like an apparition. Katya tips the hat that she’s wearing and tries to ignore the very real tears in Trixie’s eyes. She has to leave the stage, now, but she still wants to kiss those tears from Trixie’s cheeks as they fall.

Katya watches the final scene from the edge of the curtain. The little girl that Bianca hired runs onstage at the right time, and they all sing about opening up again and it’s happy and perfect. The end.

Bianca applauds from the middle of the theater, and it sounds so pathetic that Trixie laughs. The rest of the crew joins in — finally, the applause they deserved. It was honestly _fantastic_ , and that’s not just because Katya’s had rose-colored glasses on since Trixie kissed her.

Damn, Trixie kissed her, and Katya never wanted it to end.

“That was amazing,” Bianca shouts from the house. “I have, like, three notes. Everyone give it up for Kim.” The whole cast claps for Kim, who takes a little bow. “All right, let’s reset. Take a break, drink some water, and we’ll go again with Adore.”

The cast onstage disperses, all except for Trixie, who sort of scans the area. Finally, her eyes land on Katya, and Katya is frozen in place. Before she knows what is happening, Trixie literally barrels into her. She throws her arms around Katya’s neck, and it’s all Katya can do to catch her before they topple into the prop table.

Trixie releases a warm breath below her ear that makes her shiver. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Katya plays with a strand of Trixie’s hair that has come loose from a bobby pin. Trixie pulls back, but not away, keeping close to Katya. She smiles.

“I’ve wanted to talk to you all day,” Trixie says.

“Me too.”

Katya runs her hand down Trixie’s arm and feels her palm, closes her fingers around Trixie’s. She pulls her further into the wing, hiding behind the doctor’s office set piece so the crew can’t see them. After a beat and a quick look around, Katya pushes Trixie against the plywood and kisses her. The set shakes around them, and they laugh into each other’s lips.

Kissing Trixie is maybe number-one in her top ten things she’s ever done, tied with hiring Trixie six weeks ago. She’s honestly not sure how she’s lived twenty-seven years never having done it. Her heart is beating so fast, and she knows Trixie can feel it because of how close they are. She doesn’t care. Trixie can know how much she loves this, how much she loves the way Trixie’s chest presses against hers, how soft her body feels and how tender her lips are, even when her kiss is fervent.

Katya pulls away, not because she wants to stop, but because she wants to see the look on Trixie’s face that she saw last night, the way Trixie looks after she kisses her. Her mouth is parted slightly and her eyes are wide and dark. Blonde strands of hair fall in her face, and Katya tucks them away.

“I really fucking like that,” Trixie says.

Katya thinks she’s going to pass out. It’s all the validation she’s needed since she met Trixie, but especially since Trixie kissed her. “Good, because I do, too.”

Trixie’s head drops onto her shoulder. “We’re finally on the same page.”

Katya wants to laugh and agree, but she bites her lip. Kissing is one thing, but Katya doesn’t really know where this is supposed to go. Last night, she learned that Trixie had accepted her sexuality and then Trixie kissed her, all in the span of a few hours. She doesn’t know Trixie’s intentions or if they line up with hers, and that’s somehow scarier than not knowing if she’d ever get to kiss Trixie.

“Katya?” Trixie lifts her head and puts her hand on Katya’s face, brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”

Katya nods. “Yeah, it’s just…”

“We haven’t really talked,” Trixie says before she can finish.

“Exactly.”

“I know.” Trixie gives her a quick kiss. “I promised Adore that I would try and be communicative, but I fucked that up.”

Katya laughs. “That’s okay, Bianca has been saying the same thing to me.” She squeezes Trixie’s hips, and that was probably a bad idea, because the way her curves feel in Katya’s palms is _erotic_.

“Can I be honest with you?” Trixie asks. Katya nods. “Okay, um…” She looks away, and once again Katya doesn’t know where she’s going with this. “I’m really into you, like, _really_ into you. I know I’m young and I’m a baby gay, you’re totally more experienced, so I understand if you don’t want anything serious with me, that’s fine—”

Katya cuts her off with a kiss. She could cry, she’s so happy, but instead she laughs into Trixie’s mouth and pulls her so close that she’s not sure they’re two separate people anymore.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that?” Katya nudges Trixie’s leg with her knee playfully.

“Too long?”

Katya nods. “Way too long.”

“So…” Trixie bites her lip and looks at Katya under her long, pretty eyelashes. “We can try this? See where it goes?”

“Yes.” Katya seals the deal with a kiss, and again Trixie is wrapped up in her. Trixie’s hands are in her hair as though she needs to hold Katya in place, as though she’d want to be anywhere else but here.

Footsteps echo backstage. “Trixie? Katya?” Bianca’s looking for them, and she won’t find them behind this hunk of wood — except Trixie pulls away and giggles, and Katya laughs, too. Bianca’s head materializes around the side of the set piece. She eyes their proximity and rolls her eyes. “Fucking finally. I was getting really tired of this saga.”

“Like we weren’t tired of your saga with Adore,” Katya says. Trixie laughs, receiving a stern look from Bianca.

“Just don’t fuck on my set pieces, okay? And you’re missing lunch.” Bianca stares at them when Katya thinks she’s going to walk away, which means they actually have to leave.

Trixie takes Katya’s hand and leads her around the set piece, around Bianca, and into the hallway. Behind them, Bianca mutters something about _idiot lesbians_ before going the other direction. They head towards the tables where the food is set up. The cast is nearby, and most haven’t noticed them yet. Katya is waiting for the onslaught of jokes and teasing that they’re about to get once someone sees how close they are.

Trixie guides Katya to the food, and Katya thinks that someone must have skimped today. All that’s there is a bunch of bananas and some measly sandwiches. Trixie frowns at the spread.

“I’m literally starving, and this is it?” She picks up a sandwich, turkey and cheese on wheat bread, and takes a bite. Her frown grows. “I hate this.”

Katya tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry.” She reaches over the table and grabs a banana.

Trixie still looks miserable even after she swallows her bite, and it makes Katya laugh. She kisses the corner of her mouth — and that’s what draws everyone’s attention.

“Did y’all see that?” Bob asks in his not-so-quiet voice. Katya turns around and glares at him.

“Ooh, girl,” Asia says, “they finally did it.”

Katya puts her hand up. “We didn’t do anything, nothing was done.”

“ _Something_ was done.” Ben is suddenly very close to her. “Trixie’s lipstick is on your mouth.”

“Why are you looking at my lips, Ben? You’re gay.”

Trixie is laughing — laughing! — beside her. Katya wants to fend off the teasing for show, but it actually makes her feel really warm inside. It means that they care about her and Trixie, that they’re invested in their lives and in their happiness.

Katya turns back to Trixie and kisses her, because she wants everyone to see. It doesn’t matter that this relationship is five-minutes-old and that’s still very scary. She doesn’t feel scared when she’s with Trixie.

“Everyone happy?” Katya asks. They all nod in approval and go back to their lunch.

Trixie sighs, and at first it’s happy, but then she looks at her sandwich again and sighs in disgust. “Should I even eat this?”

“Yes,” Adore says as she approaches them, eyes narrowed. She looks really concerned, and Katya wonders if she should be concerned, too. It’s too late, though, because Trixie just shrugs and continues to pick at her sandwich.

They lean against the wall with Kim and Adore. Katya peels her banana and takes small bites, laughing at Adore’s antics, smiling at Trixie every chance she gets. They’re only there for what feels like minutes before Bianca comes by, clapping her hands.

“We’re starting in five.”

Everyone fixes their costumes, checks their makeup, and cleans up the food. Katya dumps her banana peel in the garbage while Trixie throws away her half-eaten shell of a sandwich. Katya wraps her arm around Trixie’s waist as they walk back to the stage with Adore and Kim.

“Are you leaving for the day, Kim?” Katya asks when they get to the stage door.

Kim shakes her head and opens the door for them. “I’m gonna stay back here and help Adore with her lines.”

“Good, she needs it,” Trixie says. Adore tries to hit her arm, but she ducks out of the way, almost knocking Katya into a box.

They get their microphones again, check their props, and then the lights go out. Katya’s hand squeezes Trixie’s hip. “I have to go to the other side.” She kisses Trixie, managing to find her lips in the dark. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

She goes back into the hallway and follows it around the stage and to the other wing. The ensemble is lined up and ready to go, they’re just waiting for Trixie to get on stage and start the show. She does, and Katya is transfixed by the aura that the spotlight and the flour particles create around her. She’s ethereal.

They go through the motions again. Somehow, this run is better than the last. Katya figures that’s a good sign, that even though they’re tired they’ll push through. That’s what makes the difference when you’re three months into a show with eight performances a week.

She doesn’t have much to do in the first act after that opening scene, so Katya sneaks into the house and sits with Bianca. They don’t talk — Katya wouldn’t dare interrupt Bianca right now, but she’s really hoping she’ll get to speak to her soon. Bianca is like another mother to her, except Bianca would probably hit her for implying that she’s old enough to be Katya’s mom. She has always had Katya’s best interest at heart, and that’s something rare to find in this town and this business.

Katya is surprised when, in a little moment that a set is being changed, Bianca pats her leg and leans close to her. “I’m really happy for you.”

Before Katya can respond, the lights go up and the next scene starts, and Bianca is back to business. Katya smiles in the darkness and leans her head on Bianca’s shoulder, letting Trixie and Kam’s voices calm her with their playful duet.

They’re getting closer to what would be intermission; Trixie, Adore, and Asia are on the stage and talking about Jenna’s pies. Jenna confesses that she’s saving money to run away.

“Honey, you can leave Earl without running away from here,” Asia says, placing her arm on Trixie’s shoulder.

Trixie shakes her head. “It’s not that easy.”

Adore starts gathering the ingredients that they’re going to use for the next song.

“Alright, go get yourself a little pie shop somewhere. Somewhere people could really use a little pie shop. Like Europe. Or New Jersey.” Asia pauses as though the audience is there to laugh.

“‘Jenna’s Pie Palace,’” Adore says.

“‘Jenna’s Pastry Heaven,’” Asia adds.

Adore hugs Trixie’s arm and raises her hand. “‘Jenna’s Pie in the Sky.’”

The acoustic guitar strums the first chords to “A Soft Place to Land.” This is one of Katya’s favorite songs in the show because of the dreamlike sound and poignant lyrics. Even the harmony between the three women is fantastic.

“ _Sugar_ ,” Trixie sings in an echo of the opening solo. “ _Sugar, butter, flour. Sometimes I still see her, my mother, the dreamer. She’d say nothing’s impossible child…_ ”

The three of them join in their harmony. “ _But dreams are elusive. The kind we’ve gotten used to is—_ ”

“ _Nothing I can feel._ ”

“ _Nothing I can hold_.”

“ _Nothing I can have_.”

“ _Nothing that I know._ ” Trixie finishes the split and brings them together again.

They echo the next few lines between each of them. Katya thinks Asia and Adore sound fantastic, but she can’t take her eyes off of Trixie. Trixie is moving the ingredients with her hands, she’s singing with beautiful clarity, she’s—

 _Wait_. Trixie’s brow is furrowing, her face pinching tightly on every line that she doesn’t sing. She accidentally spills the bag of flour but doesn’t even notice.

The three sing the final lines together. “ _A dream is a soft place to land._ ”

Trixie stops singing.

“ _May we all be_ —”

Trixie sways on her feet.

“— _so lucky…_ ”

Trixie falls over, pushing the cart with the ingredients in the process. Katya jumps out of her seat. Trixie isn’t moving.

“Trixie!” Katya shouts. The music stops, the lights turn up. Katya hops over a seat and stumbles out into the aisle, runs towards the stage at full speed. Bianca isn’t far behind her.

Adore is already on the ground at Trixie’s side. “Fuck, Kim!”

“She’s bleeding,” Asia says, standing over Trixie. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and takes a few steps away.

Kim comes out of the wing, and the rest of the cast filters in, too. Adore looks at Kim, absolutely terrified. Katya is below the stage, now, can barely see what’s going on with Trixie. All she has to go off of is the complete panic on Adore’s face.

“She needs to get to the hospital,” Kim says, “now.”

Asia holds up her phone. “I just called, ambulance is on the way.”

“What is going on?” Bianca demands. She’s barely a foot behind Katya, and even she sounds alarmed.

Kim is calm but moves urgently. There’s worry in her eyes. She turns around. “Bob, can you carry her to the front and make sure she gets in as soon as they arrive?”

Bob nods and scoops Trixie up, her body limp. He carries her backstage. Katya is about to follow, but then Adore’s voice cracks.

“I think something bad is happening, B.” Adore says, looking at Bianca with tears in her eyes. “She’s pregnant.”

The world fucking stops for a whole second, and then it kicks back into motion so fast that Katya’s head is spinning. Katya’s muscles don’t work anymore, all her energy has been rerouted to her brain just so she can comprehend.

Trixie is _pregnant_?

There’s no way, absolutely no _fucking_ way that Trixie is pregnant. She knows Trixie — Trixie’s never been with anyone. Trixie is gay. Trixie would have _told_ her if she were pregnant. Right?

Katya still hasn’t moved. There are hands on her shoulders, and she realizes that the cast has dispersed to God knows where. Katya isn’t really sure what’s real right now. She thinks she’s being pushed through a doorway, and then she’s outside in the alley. Adore is with her; Kim, too, and they’re trying to get Katya to breathe and focus on them. It isn’t working just yet.

Trixie is pregnant. Trixie just passed out. Trixie is on her way to the hospital.

“Katya, _please_ focus.” Adore is crying, Katya can hear it in her voice before she sees it. It brings her back.

Katya nods, taking deep breaths. “Okay, yeah. I’m okay.”

“Bianca is getting her car,” Kim says. “We’re going to meet Trixie at the hospital, all right?”

“Yeah.”

Adore cries harder, and Kim pulls her into a hug. “It’s okay, Adore. We were there. We got her help in time, I promise.”

Katya has half-processed the fact that Trixie is pregnant, but she hasn’t gotten to the part where Trixie is in an ambulance, unconscious. She wants to cry like Adore, but she can’t. She can’t do anything — she can’t save Trixie, right now, and she can’t go back in time to make her eat or sit down or do _something_ that would have prevented this. She is totally and completely helpless, probably for the first time since she was on drugs.

Bianca’s Lexus pulls into the alley, and Katya goes to the front seat, Kim and Adore to the back. She climbs in, officially on autopilot for the foreseeable future. All of her thoughts are focused on Trixie.

They weave through traffic as best they can. Bianca takes a few sharp turns, trying to carve out a path that will get them to the hospital the fastest. Katya wonders if the ambulance made it to the hospital yet. Bianca honks at someone who cut her off. Katya tries not to think about what might happen if Trixie hasn’t gotten there in time.

“It’s my fault.” Bianca hits the horn again — it’s the only way she can get her frustration out. “I just let her walk in here and join the show, didn’t ask any questions.”

“She wouldn’t have told you,” Adore says quietly.

“Well she told you, and you should have fucking told me,” Bianca snaps. “Then we wouldn’t be on our way to the fucking hospital.”

Adore sniffles in the back seat.

“I should have known,” Katya picks at the lock button on her door. She leans her head against the window and looks at her reflection in the sideview mirror. She looks fine, but she can see in her own eyes that she’s wrecked on the inside. “Of anyone, it should have been me.”

Kim sighs. “You were the last person she wanted to know.”

“Why?” Katya yells. “I could have helped her, I could have taken care of her, I could have—”

“Because she’s in love with you,” Kim says.

The car is quiet, but for the way the engine revs as Bianca speeds up. They hit a bump and Katya’s head bounces against the window. She doesn’t seem to care right now.

“Is she going to die?” Adore asks. Katya finally looks at her in the rearview mirror, and she thinks Adore looks like a little girl in Kim’s arms, eyes red and tear-stained.

Bianca’s voice is soft. “She’s not going to die, angel.”

“The baby might,” Kim says. “She was bleeding. I think she’s having a miscarriage.”

“Jesus.” Bianca’s jaw twitches.

Suddenly, the pieces fit together for Katya — with all that Trixie’s told her, everything has been missing just one detail. “It’s why she’s here, because she’s pregnant. Her parents kicked her out.”

Adore lets out a loud breath. “Yeah.”

“They put their twenty-year-old daughter out on the street because she was having a baby.” Katya shakes her head. “Who the fuck does that?”

“A lot of people,” Bianca says. “A lot of really bad people.”

* * *

They pull into the hospital parking lot just as Asia, Ben, Kam, and Kennedy are walking through the entrance. It takes Bianca a minute to find a spot, but one opens up a few rows from the building. Katya jumps out of the car. She wants to run into the hospital and demand to see Trixie — she must look like she does, too, because Bianca’s hand plants firmly on her shoulder and stays there until they get inside.

Bob is waiting for them near the entrance, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed. The whole group congregates around him closely to keep from being in the way of nurses and patients.

“She’s on the fifth floor in OB. They said they’re going to put her on fluids and give her a full exam,” Bob says.

“Is she awake?” Katya asks.

Bob shrugs. “She seemed like she was starting to wake up when they took her out of the ambulance, but I don’t know.”

“Well, we’ll just have to go and wait for her.” Bianca pushes Ben and Kim towards the elevators, wraps her arm around Adore’s shoulder. The rest of the cast follows.

Katya steps up to Bob, lowers her voice. “How did she look?”

“Pale.” Bob shakes his head, looks down. “She was bleeding a lot.”

“Thank you,” Katya says. She puts her hand on Bob’s shoulder.

Bob smiles weakly. “I’m going to go call my son.”

“I understand.”

“I’ll meet you all up there.” Bob takes Katya’s hand on his shoulder and squeezes it, then goes out the front doors.

Katya just barely makes it to the elevators in time to go up with the group. She shoves in between Kennedy and Kameron, and though it’s tight and a little claustrophobic with all of them, she feels comforted with how close they all are. She feels like her family is holding each other up.

The obstetrics wing of the fifth floor is all white tile and pink walls — baby pink, which reminds Katya of Trixie and makes her want to cry. There’s a small desk with a few nurses working on charts just inside the doors. Bianca goes straight there as their little leader, and she leans over the desk, Adore tucked into her side.

“Hi, we’re here for Trixie Mattel? She just came in.” Bianca watches the nurse nod and look through the computer.

“Beatrice Mattel?”

Katya steps forward. “Yes.” She’s the only one of them who knows Trixie’s given name.

“We aren’t family, exactly— her immediate family doesn’t speak to her,” Bianca explains, “but we’re hoping that we can be there when she’s able to have visitors, if that’s allowed.”

God, Katya fucking hopes that they can see her. They _are_ her family, they’re more of a family to her than her horrible parents ever have been. They wouldn’t send her out because she was pregnant; they would take her to doctors, keep her safe, and Katya would even be by her side when she gave birth. Katya would do anything for Trixie, and that should mean something.

The nurse barely bats an eyelash, though. “Of course. I’ll have someone let her know you’re here, and when the doctor clears her and she's available for visitors, we’ll get you.”

Katya releases a breath.

“Thank you,” Bianca says.

“The waiting room is around the corner.” The nurse points in that direction, and Kim and Asia start moving before she’s even done with her sentence. Katya isn’t far behind.

There are a few people in the waiting room, some men Katya thinks are expectant fathers, a few women and smaller children. The group takes up a clump of seats in the middle, Bianca and Adore finding seats across from them when they run out. Every coffee table has a pile of magazines, and there are building blocks and toy trains on the floor for the children. The television in the corner plays some nature documentary; Katya gets lost in the flapping of pink wings as they show flamingos catching food in open waters.

Across from her, Bianca is holding Adore, stroking her hair. She whispers an apology for snapping at her in the car. She tells her everything is going to be okay. Katya wishes she could be doing that for Trixie. Bob joins them after a while, taking a seat next to Adore. He’s somber like the rest of them.

Katya’s leg bounces quickly, slowly, and then quickly again. She doesn’t want to look at her phone or watch the television, and all the magazines are for mothers, which she doesn’t think will help her very much right now. What she really wants is to smoke — but she left her cigarettes at the theater and there’s no way of finding one in a hospital. The no-smoking signs posted around the room are mocking her.

She decides to have a chat with God, even though she’s not religious and not really his biggest fan. People do it in movies, so she thinks it might help in some odd way. She remembers that one episode of _The Golden Girls_ where Rose is having surgery and Blanche promises God that she’ll be celibate if Rose comes out okay. Now, Katya doesn’t necessarily think promising not to have sex is going to help Trixie — but she’s fucking begging that this imaginary dude who supposedly controls the Universe will do _something_. She’s very close to giving up cigarettes if it means Trixie is okay.

And the baby.

Katya doesn’t know anything about Trixie’s pregnancy — doesn’t know how she got pregnant, how she’s dealing with it physically, or how she even feels about it. What she does know is that Trixie was kicked out over two months ago, which means that she’s known for as long. The fact that she hasn’t gotten an abortion by now means that she might have wanted to keep it.

“Fuck.” Katya squeezes her eyes shut and presses her knuckles into her forehead. She feels a hand rub her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Kameron asks

There are tears lining Katya’s eyes. “She doesn’t deserve this.”

“Asia,” Adore says, her voice soft, “do you think it was a miscarriage?”

Asia looks down. “My sister had a miscarriage after trying for a long time, and it seemed pretty similar.”

 _Fuck_.

“What do you even say?” Katya looks at all of them, looks into their eyes. “What do you say when this happens?”

“You tell her that it’s going to hurt like hell. You tell her that she’s allowed to feel like something’s been ripped out of her.” Asia puts her hand on Katya’s knee. “Tell her we’ll be here to hold her when she can’t hold herself. And you tell her she’ll get better because she is strong.”

They’re all silent for a beat. Katya imagines that they are all thinking about how strong Trixie is — this young girl who became the star of the show like it was nothing, who took care of herself for two months with barely any money, who was pregnant and on her own and wouldn’t let it show.

Kennedy clears his throat. “It could be okay. For all we know, it was something else.”

No one agrees with him. Sure, it could have been some illness or affliction, maybe Trixie cut her leg on something and it just bled a lot — but there’s no use trying to come up with something better when the worst happens to be the simplest explanation.

Katya’s stomach churns and vibrates. She’s hungry and nauseated all at once, and it’s very uncomfortable. They’ve been in the waiting room for close to an hour and a half, each minute more excruciating than the last. Katya has lulled herself into some sort of nature-induced trance by staring at the television screen. She wonders if she’s absorbing the information unconsciously, if at some point in a week she’ll randomly conjure the knowledge that a shrimp’s heart lives in its head.

Each time a nurse even walks by the waiting room, at least one person from their group looks ready to jump out of their seat, and each time it’s nothing. By the seventh nurse, no one moves — except this nurse does walk into the waiting room with a chart, and she looks down to read it.

“Trixie Mattel?”

All nine of them get up in a move so coordinated Katya couldn’t have choreographed it herself.

“That’s us,” Bianca says, ever the matriarch.

“Trixie is asking for you.” The nurse motions with her clipboard to follow, so they do. She takes them down the hallway, past open doors, closed doors, rooms echoing with the screams of labor. There’s equipment in the hallway that Katya has to dodge as she walks.

When they round a corner, the nurse stops at room 516 and points to it. The door is closed, but the blinds are open — Katya can see just a sliver of blonde hair, and she knows it’s Trixie.

No one moves but Bianca. “I’ll go in first. We don’t want to overwhelm her.” She makes eye contact with Katya, and after years of working together Katya understands what she wants.

Katya steps closer to the window to see into the room as Bianca goes in. Trixie is lying on the hospital bed staring at the wall in front of her. Her stage makeup is smudged and through it Katya can see that she’s still pale.

Bianca crosses the room and puts her hand on Trixie’s shoulder, and only after does Trixie look away from the space she was staring at. She looks up at Bianca, her face straight for a moment — Bianca says something, and then Trixie bursts into tears. Bianca leans over her and pulls her into her arms, presses Trixie’s face into her chest. Trixie’s whole body heaves with sobs. It’s all Bianca can do to keep them upright, to continue gently rubbing Trixie’s shoulders. She kisses the top of her head, then turns to look at Katya. Bianca shakes her head.

She lost the baby.

Katya leans her forehead on the window for a moment. “Fuck.” She turns around and finds seven pairs of eyes staring right at her expectantly. “She lost it.” Adore’s breath hitches, and everyone’s faces turn even more grim than before. “I’m going in. I’ll have Bianca get you when she’s ready.”

She opens the door, goes in, and closes it gently. Hearing Trixie’s sobs is infinitely more painful than just seeing them. She wants to throw up.

Trixie leans around Bianca’s body, hiccuping. “Katya?” Her voice is thick and scratchy with mucus, her eyes puffy and wet. Katya has the urge to hold her and never let her go.

So she does. Katya goes to the other side of the bed and sits on the edge, and as soon as she does Trixie wraps her arms around her waist. There isn’t a good way for Katya to hold her like she needs to, so she lays back in the hospital bed, half on her side, and takes Trixie in her arms. Trixie feels so small now. Bianca keeps rubbing her back and makes eye contact with Katya. Katya might feel like she’s holding Trixie together right now, but Bianca is holding all of them together.

“I'm sorry,” Trixie says into Katya’s shoulder, “I’m so sorry.”

Katya feels a tear fall from her own eye, and Bianca wipes it away. “Shh. There’s nothing to be sorry about.” Katya puts her hand on Trixie’s cheek and moves her face so she can kiss her forehead. “You did nothing wrong, Trixie.”

Trixie looks at her for a moment, eyes wet, and she sniffles and cries again. Katya just keeps wiping her tears away, kissing her forehead and cheeks, stroking her hair. Bianca collects a box of tissues from the corner of the room and tries to dab at Trixie’s face. After a while, she quiets, still shaking in Katya’s arms.

“It hurts,” Trixie whispers.

Katya presses her forehead against Trixie’s temple. “I know, baby. I know.”

“I should have—” Trixie’s voice cracks, and she clears her throat. “I was scared to tell you. I thought you would hate me.”

Bianca scratches at her scalp. “We would never hate you, honey.”

“We just want to know you’re okay,” Katya says.

Trixie nods, and she lays on her back, Katya’s arm still around her. Katya won’t let her go.

“The, uh, doctor said I’m fine, just dehydrated and I needed to eat.” Trixie rests a hand on her stomach, and Katya puts her own hand on top of Trixie’s. She looks into Trixie’s eyes, tries to tell her that it’s okay, that she can be honest. “She said that it wasn’t because of anything I did, it’s usually because of a chromosomal issue or something hormonal.” Trixie sniffles. “I passed out because I was already exhausted and my body was going through a trauma.”

Bianca sits down on the other side of the bed and puts her hand on Trixie’s shoulder. “So, it wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?” When Trixie shrugs and looks down, Bianca lifts her head with a finger under her chin. “It wasn’t your fault. Not at all.”

“Okay.”

“Good,” Bianca says. “Is there anyone we need to call?”

Katya’s brow furrows, because Bianca knows that Trixie’s parents don’t care — and then she realizes that Bianca is talking about the father. Her eyes go wide. She hasn’t even thought about the fact that there _is_ a father.

Trixie shakes her head. “No.”

Somehow, that makes this all worse, knowing that absolutely no one was there for Trixie, even the other person responsible. Katya holds her even tighter.

Bianca nods and smiles sadly. “Okay.” Her thumb rubs over Trixie’s shoulder. “Everyone is outside waiting to see you. Do you want me to bring them in?”

“Yeah,” Trixie says, and for the first time she smiles, just a little. Bianca nods and gets up, and Trixie snuggles back into Katya, her head tucking beneath Katya’s chin. When the door closes, Trixie looks up. “Katya?”

“Yes, baby?”

Trixie swallows. “I feel like I’m alone for the first time in a very long time.”

It breaks Katya’s heart. She knows that Trixie doesn’t mean it literally; Katya is still holding her, and their friends are about to fill the room and check on Trixie. It’s like what Asia said earlier — she feels like something she’s been carrying for months has been ripped out of her, there one moment and gone the next.

“I’m here.” It’s all Katya can say right now. She kisses the tip of Trixie’s nose, looks into her wet brown eyes. “I promise you that you won’t be alone ever again.”

The door opens and the group files in, Adore shoving through first to get to Trixie’s bedside. Bianca comes in moments later with a bottle of water for Trixie. Katya can see that Adore wants to jump on top of Trixie and hug her, but she’s holding back, staring at her like if she even breathes wrong she’ll break her.

“Hi, guys,” Trixie says through new tears. “Sorry I fucked up rehearsal.”

“Bitch, shut up.” Adore laughs and finally pulls Trixie into a hug. Katya backs up, but she’s still tucked on the bed with Trixie. “We’re just so glad you’re okay.”

Kim nods. “You scared us.”

“It won’t happen again.” Trixie crosses her heart, and everyone laughs.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ben says from the back. “We all are.”

Trixie nods, and that’s the last time it’s mentioned. They talk for a little longer, Trixie assuring them she’s okay and telling them how great they were during rehearsal. Kim makes fun of Adore for how much she cried on the way to the hospital, they all laugh about it now. Katya is silent, happy to hold Trixie and listen as her family tries to make her feel better.

A nurse comes in with discharge information and tells the group that they have to leave. Trixie’s eyes go wide and she clutches to Katya — like Katya would even _consider_ moving. The rest of the group listens, though, calling out their farewells.

“I love you guys,” Trixie says, and then the door shuts and it’s just Trixie, Adore, Kim, Bianca, and Katya.

The nurse looks at Katya. “Are you her partner?”

“Yes,” Trixie answers quickly, “she is.”

Katya hides her smile by kissing Trixie’s cheek. The nurse turns to the rest of the women.

“I have to ask you to leave for a moment,” she says, genuinely apologetic.

Trixie reaches out for Bianca. “I’d like Bianca to stay, please.”

The nurse nods. Adore looks at Bianca like she’s not sure what to do, and Bianca rubs her shoulder.

“You and Kim go wait outside, it won’t be long.” Bianca catches Adore’s hand and kisses it before sending her out of the room.

Katya kind of wants to laugh — not even ten years ago could there have been a room full of queer women in a hospital without most of them getting kicked out for not being family.

When the door closes, the nurse starts handing sheets of paper to Trixie. Katya tries to get a look at each of them, but there are a lot of words she doesn’t know.

“The doctor prescribed some medication to help pass the rest of the placenta.” The nurse is speaking mostly to Trixie and Bianca, who’s listening like she’s Trixie’s mother. Katya is thankful, because she is already lost and the word _placenta_ makes her want to throw up. “You’ll bleed for about a week with some cramps, but if it doesn’t stop after that, call us and we’ll get you in to be seen. And lastly—”

She gives Trixie the final paper — it’s an ultrasound image taken that day. It looks cloudy and there’s barely any discernible features. The baby is gone. Trixie runs her finger over the spot where it should have been, where only fluid is now.

The nurse unhooks Trixie from her IV drip and then leaves the room. Bianca takes Trixie’s papers for her and helps her stand up while Katya sits on the bed behind her in case she falls. They help her put her clothes back on — still her costume from the show — and discard the hospital gown. Bianca opens the door and talks to Adore and Kim.

Katya holds her arm as they walk towards the door. Trixie stops at a poster on the wall depicting the stages of fetal growth and points to the ten-week sketch. It looks like an alien with a big head and little limbs, a rounded body without a neck, eyes, or chin.

“She was supposed to grow bones this week. Isn’t that weird to think about?” Trixie asks. She doesn’t look away from the poster. “Next week she was going to have fingers and toes.”

Katya kisses her temple. “Come on.”

They take her to the hospital lobby and wait just inside the doors while Bianca gets the car. No one — not Katya, Adore, nor Kim — leaves Trixie’s side. She drinks water and eats a donut that Adore got her from a vending machine, finishes it before they get in the car so she doesn’t get flakes of sugar glaze on Bianca’s seats.

After a few minutes, Trixie is wedged between Katya and Kim in the back seat. She holds Katya’s hand and leans her head on Kim, her eyes closing. She looks exhausted still, and with good reason.

“How long do you think you should sit out the show, Trixie?” Bianca asks.

Trixie picks her head up and frowns. “I’m not sitting it out. Tomorrow’s opening night.”

“Trixie…” Bianca sighs and looks at her in the rearview mirror. “I don’t think it’s a smart idea for you to perform right now, especially not on opening night.”

“Well, I’m going to.”

Katya runs her fingers along the inside of Trixie’s forearm. “Trix—”

“I’ve been working hard for six weeks, haven’t I?” Trixie looks between Katya and Bianca. “I’ve been working hard at two jobs, while _pregnant_ , for six weeks. I can do the fucking show.”

They can’t argue with that.

Bianca drives to Kim’s townhouse first, since it’s the closest to the hospital. Kim gives Trixie a quick kiss on the cheek, pats Adore’s shoulder, and then climbs out of the car.

“Your house or mine, angel?” Bianca asks softly. Adore shrugs. Bianca looks to the backseat in the mirror. “Trixie?”

She doesn’t know Trixie’s address, so she’s waiting for her to give it, but Trixie is staring wide-eyed at Katya. Her grasp on Katya’s arm tightens and she looks like she’s about to cry.

“Katya,” she whispers, and Katya understands. She doesn’t want to be alone.

“Just go to mine,” Katya says. She smiles at Trixie to reassure her and kisses her forehead.

The ride to Katya’s apartment is silent. They’re all exhausted from rehearsal earlier and the hospital trip, and it’s getting past dinner time. Katya pulls up Uber Eats on her phone, orders Mongolian beef from P.F. Chang’s and hands it to Trixie for her to pick something. When she’s done, Katya pays and sends the order through so it’ll be there within thirty minutes.

Bianca pulls over to the curb in front of Katya’s building and parks. Trixie and Katya slide out of the car and step onto the sidewalk, and then Bianca and Adore get out, too. Adore wraps her arms around Trixie’s neck and rocks her back and forth a little.

“I love you, Trix,” she whispers, and then she steps away.

Bianca hugs Trixie and kisses her cheek. “You better rest, kid. I don’t want to see you at the theater tomorrow until an hour before the show.”

“Okay.” Trixie smiles a little. “Thanks, Bianca.”

“You too, Katya. Call me if you need anything,” Bianca says, patting Katya on the cheek.

“I will, B.”

Bianca nods at them one last time, and then she and Adore get back in the car and drive off. Katya wraps her arm around Trixie’s shoulder and guides her inside.

Trixie looks too exhausted to do anything for herself, and Katya can see that she’s too sad to even try. So, she puts Trixie’s documents on her kitchen table — she’ll read them later so she knows what to do for Trixie. She takes Trixie into the bathroom and sits her down on the toilet, pulls out a package of makeup wipes and starts taking Trixie’s stage makeup off. When that’s done, she brushes Trixie’s hair and lets her tie it back with a scrunchie. She gets a pair of clothes for Trixie from her bedroom and leaves them with her to get the food.

They eat on the sofa and watch _Schitt’s Creek_ because it is Trixie’s favorite show right now. They finish eating by the middle of the second episode, and Katya sets the food aside to clean up later. She tells Trixie to lay down and puts Trixie’s head in her lap so she can scratch at Trixie’s scalp and massage her neck. After a little of that, Katya feels tears on her legs.

“Trixie?” Katya asks gently. She smoothes her hand over Trixie’s cheek.

“I liked the name Alexis,” Trixie says, staring at the television. Alexis Rose, one of the main characters, is on the screen. “I would have named her Alexis. Alexis Mattel.”

Katya nods and smiles, even though this is fucking heartbreaking. “It’s beautiful.”

Trixie sniffles and turns over so her face is against Katya’s abdomen. She looks up at Katya. “It’s stupid, but I…”

She doesn’t say anything for a while, but her throat bobs like she’s swallowing thickly, trying to keep from crying harder.

“But what?”

“I got attached, and I didn’t even realize.” Trixie opens her eyes. “I decided not to get an abortion, so I had to live with it, and to live with it meant I had to get attached.”

“That’s not stupid, that’s normal,” Katya says, her fingers massaging into Trixie’s forehead.

Trixie closes her eyes and nods. “Do you—” Her words catch in her throat. Katya wipes a tear away from her eye. “Do you think it’s because a part of me didn’t want her?”

“No, baby. It’s not because of anything you did or felt.”

“You don’t know that,” Trixie says. “The Universe has been pretty heavy-handed with my life, lately. I think that’s why.” She buries her face in Katya’s abdomen again and just breathes.

Katya doesn’t know how to comfort her right now, and she hopes she’s doing an okay job. She just wants to take all this pain away from Trixie.

“I don’t know why it hurts this bad.” Trixie looks at Katya again. “If I didn’t want her, it shouldn’t hurt this bad.”

“You just lost something that was literally a part of you, Trixie. You’re allowed to hurt,” Katya says.

“Okay,” Trixie whispers, letting out a long breath. “Can we go to bed?”

Katya nods. “Of course, baby.”

Trixie sits up and waits for Katya to turn the television off and get up before standing. Katya takes her hand, leads her to the bedroom, and tells Trixie to settle in. She takes her clothes off right there in front of Trixie because she won’t leave her, not now. Her pajamas are on her vanity, and she slips them on, then gets in bed and turns off the light. Trixie’s arms are already around her waist. Their faces are close, Trixie is just staring at Katya like she doesn’t know what to do. This is the first time they’ve slept together since — well, since they kissed, since they decided to date, since Katya found out Trixie had been pregnant. Even Katya doesn’t know what to do.

“Goodnight,” Katya says quietly, smiling.

Trixie looks at her for a moment longer, then kisses her. It’s gentle and comforting, but nothing more. Katya knows that Trixie needs time to heal, and that means that their relationship needs to be put on hold right now. Katya will wait as long as she needs to if it means being with a happy Trixie.

Trixie pulls away. “Goodnight, Katya.” She buries her head under Katya’s chin, and Katya brings her closer.

Just before she falls asleep, Katya remembers that she hasn’t smoked pretty much all day. It starts to eat at her inside, but she can’t go smoke now. Trixie needs her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so AC Valhalla came out last week and it's been keeping me from writing. I'm about to go home for break and will have lots of time to do finals and write, but I may take one week off from posting because these chapters are starting to catch up to me. I hope you've enjoyed this so far, I promise many things (good and not-so-good) to come.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't done any writing but I just feel like posting this today, also I didn't proofread this time but it should be fine
> 
> **ps there's a lot of talk about post-miscarriage stuff so sorry but normalize periods and similar stuff

Trixie turns over in bed for the fifth time in the last two minutes. She’s been scrolling mindlessly on Twitter for half an hour, updating the feed every so often, but there’s nothing interesting going on right now. After her fifth political ad, she closes the app altogether.

Katya should be back by now. It’s been over an hour, and Trixie is impatient. Her thighs feel sweaty and stuck together, but she can’t pull them apart because she knows that she’s bleeding a little. She just hates the feeling of sitting around in it. She’s annoyed that she agreed to wait for Katya to come home before showering, and she’s even more annoyed that she agreed to stay in the apartment until the show.

It’s not like she _wants_ to go anywhere, but she definitely doesn’t want to be bleeding out the remnants of a fucking baby in a bed alone.

Trixie sighs and pulls the covers back, slides out of bed while trying to keep the crotch of her shorts off of the white sheets. She does that awkward period waddle to the kitchen and gets a bag of pretzels out of the cabinet. As she eats them, she scans the apartment. It looks different than the first few times Trixie has been in it. Katya didn’t know that she’d have to hide her decorative knives or her weird mannequin body parts, so they’re just sitting where Trixie assumes they always do. It’s very fascinating.

Her eyes land on the kitchen table, where her discharge papers have taken residence. Katya took the one with the prescription to have it filled, leaving behind the others with information on the miscarriage process, support groups, and even one on trying to get pregnant after a miscarriage.

_As if._

Trixie picks that one up and throws it away. When she does, she unveils the last sheet that was given to her, which Katya had hidden beneath the others — the ultrasound photo of her cloudy, liquid-filled womb. She stares at it from a foot away, doesn’t want to get closer. It’s weird to think that, thirty-six hours ago, there was a baby there. _Her_ baby, a little thing with arms and legs and a face that someday would look like hers.

No, Trixie didn’t really want her baby, but she would have loved it anyway.

The door opens and Katya stumbles in, drops one of the bags she was carrying with a thud. Her chest is heaving and she’s wheezing — Trixie can already smell the cigarette smoke wafting from her, and if she weren’t so fucking depressed she’d laugh, because watching Katya’s smoker lungs struggle to keep up with the demands of a twenty-seven-year-old body is amusing. _Karma_.

Katya closes the door and then dumps the rest of the stuff on the floor. She’s brought two bags from Trixie’s apartment, her guitar in its case, and a CVS bag with Trixie’s prescription. Trixie knows she should help her, but she looks at the ultrasound again and doesn’t want to move.

She never got an actual ultrasound of the baby to keep.

“I got you maybe a week’s worth of clothes— if you want more we can get them later. Also, we should get your truck and bring it…” She pauses. “Trixie?”

Trixie hums, because it’s all she can manage. She hears the rustle of the CVS bag and then Katya is at her side looking at the ultrasound, too.

“Trixie,” Katya says, putting a hand on Trixie’s shoulder, “baby. Don’t look at it.”

“Okay.” Trixie doesn’t look away.

Katya moves in front of Trixie, effectively blocking her view of the photo. “Do you want me to keep it in a drawer or throw it away?”

“Keep it,” Trixie whispers. “Please.”

She’s not sure why. She figures one day she’ll look back on all this and it’ll feel like a distant memory, just a bump in the road of her life. That feels like the far, far future right now.

Katya picks up the ultrasound image and goes into the kitchen behind Trixie, tucking it away in a drawer that Trixie doesn’t bother to see. She fills a glass of water and then comes back, digs through the CVS bag, and takes out Trixie’s medication.

“Here.” Katya hands Trixie the water and pops the cap off of the medication, pouring out two capsules. Trixie takes them both in one swallow.

“Can I shower now?” Trixie asks.

Katya puts away the pills and nods. “Yeah, of course.”

Trixie finishes the glass of water before she goes to the bathroom. She doesn’t think she’s going to pass out again, which is what Katya is worried about, but being hydrated doesn’t hurt. Trixie leaves the bathroom door open a crack and starts taking off her clothes. When she hears Katya come in, she turns on the shower, her back to the door.

“I’ll be right out here,” Katya says. Trixie looks in the mirror and can see Katya just barely through the sliver of open door.

Katya isn’t looking into the bathroom, and in that moment Trixie can’t decide if she’s disappointed or not. Her stomach twists with this weird, misplaced guilt, and she can’t identify it — does she feel guilty about interrupting the beginning of a relationship with Katya, or does she feel guilty about wanting things to be normal when they aren’t?

The water stings against her skin until she adjusts to the warmth. She lets it soak her, tumble over her shoulders and drip between her breasts, from her nose and into her mouth. There’s blood falling onto the beige tile when she looks down, but she doesn’t care enough to find it gross. She reaches out of the shower and picks up her underwear from the floor, brings it into the shower to try and rinse the blood out.

Of course, losing the human she was growing inside of her just _has_ to be gory.

Katya’s shampoo smells infinitely stronger when Trixie uses it. The coconut scent fills the small space and wraps her up as though Katya were the one doing it. She’s glad that she gets to smell like Katya all the time, now — except without the cigarettes. She could do without that. Katya’s soap is nice, too, and by the time she’s finished with her shower she feels a little more comfortable.

Towel wrapped around her body, she opens the bathroom door fully to find her bags sitting at the foot of Katya’s bed, open and ready for her. Katya herself is in bed, playing a game on her phone. She pretends like she doesn’t continuously look at Trixie as Trixie goes to her bags and starts digging for clothes, and Trixie pretends like she doesn’t see Katya looking at her. She pulls out a fresh pair of underwear and leggings, a pink tank top and the bra she likes to wear under her costume. When she stands up, she looks at Katya expectantly.

“Katya?”

Katya locks her phone so fast Trixie thinks she’s going to drop it on her face.

“What’s up?”

“Could I, uh—” Trixie clears her throat and looks away to stop her blush. “Could I have a pad?”

Katya doesn’t move for a moment, and then her brain finally catches up. “Oh. Right, yeah.”

She goes into the bathroom and Trixie follows. Katya opens the middle drawer under the sink and reveals a whole stash of period products. Trixie takes out a pad.

“I guess I have to start buying these again,” Trixie says, and she tries to laugh — really puts in an effort, but it ends up being this strangled sound in the back of her throat.

“Yeah.” Katya looks at Trixie for a little. She hasn’t been exactly pitying Trixie all this time, but Trixie knows it hurts her to see Trixie in pain. Katya takes a small step forward, puts her hand on the back of Trixie’s head, and kisses her forehead. “I’ll go make lunch, okay?”

“Okay.”

Trixie gets dressed, folds her pajamas — Katya’s pajamas, really — and puts them on top of one of her bags. Then, she goes into the kitchen. Katya looks kind of funny cooking, doing domestic things. It doesn’t seem to fit with her vibe; but then, everyone needs to eat and keep their home clean, Trixie guesses. Katya is making them grilled cheese with ham and eggs. Trixie stands behind her at the stove and wraps her arms around her waist, presses her face into the space between Katya’s shoulder blades.

Katya is always warm, Trixie has learned, and the heat that radiates through her thin shirt feels good on Trixie’s cheek. Every time she hugs Katya she gets this full feeling in her chest, and it’s working like medicine, at least for a little. Katya’s hand runs over Trixie’s forearm, and Trixie smiles as much as her crushing depression will let her.

Katya finishes the sandwiches a few minutes later and plates them. Trixie brings them to the kitchen table.

“I’m going to smoke for a minute,” Katya says, pulling her cigarettes from the back pocket of her jeans. “You can start without me.” She heads to the window, unlatches it.

Trixie clears her throat. “You don’t have to do that.”

“What?” Katya already has a leg through the window.

“You don’t— I mean, I don’t love cigarette smoke, but I only asked you not to smoke around me because I was pregnant.” Trixie’s voice falters on _was_.

“That…” Katya laughs under her breath. “That makes a lot more sense, now. It’s okay, though, I’ll go out.”

“You really don’t have to.”

Katya stares at her for a minute, then smiles. “How about I just sit by the window and blow the smoke out.”

Trixie is fine with that, so she nods and sits at the table. Katya drags one of the chairs up against the window, then brings the ashtray and her plate and balances them on the sill. The plate wobbles dangerously, but Katya doesn’t pay attention as she lights the tip of a cigarette with her red lighter.

Trixie takes a bite of her sandwich and decides that Katya’s pretty good at making kiddie food. She looks at the profile of Katya’s face as she smokes, follows the hard line of her jaw and the hollowness in her cheeks. Trixie wonders how she could look so sharp and angular but still be soft.

“So.” The end of the cigarette crackles as Katya takes a drag. She blows it out, then looks at Trixie. “Can we talk about it?”

Trixie swallows thickly. “Sure.”

Her heart pounds. She figures it’s that residual fear of Katya finding out about the pregnancy kicking in, but she knows in her head that it doesn’t matter now. She shoves that down and focuses on a spot on the table.

“This might be stupid, but I kind of thought you were a—” Katya laughs nervously. “I thought you were a virgin.”

“Nope.”

“Well, we’d had that conversation a while ago where you said you didn’t really date anyone because you didn’t know who you liked, and I figured…”

Trixie actually laughs, finally. “I still didn’t _really_ know who I liked, even after the sex.”

Katya takes a bite of her sandwich, her eyes not leaving Trixie. “Can I ask how it happened?” Katya always gives her her full attention — it’s one of Katya’s best traits, her attentiveness, as it shows just how much Katya cares about the person she’s talking to.

So, Trixie tells the story, never breaking eye contact with Katya. She tells her about her stepdad, the suspicion and the slurs, having sex with Jared, missing her period and buying a pregnancy test, having her stepdad find it and physically throw her out of the house — she tells all of it, for the first time with no detail spared. It feels _good_ , not only because she’s spilling every bit of it, but because she’s telling Katya. The person she didn’t want to know the most also happens to be the person she wants to share her entire life with.

When it’s over, Katya just kind of processes it for a moment. Her cigarette and her sandwich are both finished, so she has nothing to occupy her hands with. They just sit in her lap, picking at the fringed edges of her jean shorts.

“It was only that one time?”

Trixie nods. “Yeah.”

“Wow.” Katya laughs and her cheeks go immediately red. “Sorry, that was weird.”

“That’s okay.” Trixie knows how bad-fucking-luck it was to get pregnant that easily. It’s not fair to the people who try for years, really.

“And I’m assuming he didn’t use a—”

Trixie puts her hand up to cut Katya off and closes her eyes. “Fuck, this is the most embarrassing part of the story.” She opens her eyes and looks right at Katya as she prepares for her diatribe. “By the time he realized what I wanted, I was naked and on his bed. I didn’t even watch him get undressed, so I don’t know if he got a condom and I didn’t check. I might not have accepted it back then, but I’m gay, all right? I didn’t want to look at this man’s dick.” Trixie takes a breath. “Either way, he tried to pull out, or whatever, and it didn’t work. Obviously.”

Katya nods a few times as she digests the information. “So, you found out you were pregnant and you got kicked out— then what? He just didn’t care and let you drive to Los Angeles alone?”

“Well…” Trixie looks away. “I haven’t spoken to him since we had sex. He doesn’t know anything.”

She’s afraid to look at Katya and find judgement in her eyes. It wasn’t until she told the story that Trixie realized it wasn’t just one bad decision that brought her here, but a whole string of them.

“Okay.”

Trixie’s eyes dart to Katya, and all she sees is her gentle smile. The way she’s just accepted all of this and handled it is kind of miraculous, and for a second, Trixie wonders why she waited so long to tell Katya.

Katya continues to smile at her. She stands from her chair, tosses the ash from the ashtray out the window, and then picks up her plate. She reaches over the table for Trixie’s and takes them to the kitchen to rinse and put in the dishwasher. When she’s done, she dries her hands and comes back to shut the window, then stands in front of Trixie. They aren’t touching, but Trixie feels comforted even with this small proximity to her. Her face is at Katya’s stomach, and she wants to lean her head against her abs and cry.

Katya puts her hand on Trixie’s cheek, and Trixie closes her eyes, presses into the touch. “I’m going to start getting ready for later. Why don’t you put something on the TV and I’ll be right there?”

Trixie nods, eyes still closed. She turns her head and kisses Katya’s palm. Katya tugs her up from the chair, then, and takes her to the sofa. Once Trixie is seated, she covers her in a blanket and presses a kiss to her cheek, leaning over the back of the sofa.

“You know you’re amazing, right?” Katya asks, her face close enough to Trixie that her lips tickle Trixie’s cheek.

Trixie shrugs. “Sure.”

“Trixie Mattel.” Katya wraps her arms around Trixie’s shoulders, kisses her head, her neck, her ear, and her shoulder. It makes Trixie giggle, just a little, and her skin tingles long after she stops. “You are so amazing. You put up with so much on your own and you never let it show.” Katya kisses the corner of her mouth. “Amazing.”

She picks up the remote from the sofa and hands it to Trixie, then goes into the bedroom.

Trixie scrolls through Netflix, finding herself highly disappointed in the movie selection. She could put _Schitt’s Creek_ on again, but her heart feels like it’s in her stomach and she needs maximum comfort. So, she pulls out the big guns: _Dolly Parton’s Heartstrings_.

The “Jolene” episode was more than a little disappointing, so she just skips right to “Two Doors Down.” She remembers watching it for the first time right before last Christmas, when the Wisconsin blizzards trapped her in with her family, like always. She and her sister cuddled up in Trixie’s bed and watched the whole series straight through.

All their lives, Trixie and Iris had had two constants: a familial love for Dolly Parton, and their parents’ intolerance. The “Two Doors Down” episode was a good teaching moment for Iris, because she got to learn straight from the country music deity herself that it was normal to be gay; the other _Heartstrings_ episodes, too, helped her understand it was okay to be the things Trixie’s stepfather drunkenly ranted about. Watching it just made Trixie happy and feel validated.

Trixie presses play. A piano starts playing, and then Dolly’s airy voice plays through the speakers, instantly filling the room with backwoods warmth. The opening credits roll through, Dolly shows up on the screen in her little studio, and Trixie is truly smiling for the first time. She gets up from the sofa and goes to her guitar case that’s still sitting by the door.

“ _But what I found out on the road,_ ” Dolly says in her cute, southern-accented voice, “ _was a whole new family with bands and crews that were made up of all kinds of people, who were different colors, gay, lesbian, transgender, and all different faiths_.”

Trixie smiles and undoes the brass latches on the case. Gently, she brings the guitar out and holds it by the neck to carry it to the sofa. She sits, putting the guitar on her lap.

“ _Because what it all comes down to is ‘love is love,’ in road families and in real families_ ,” Dolly continues. She drops the needle on the “Two Doors Down” record and a guitar starts playing the beginning of the song.

Trixie plays along, sings along with the main character, Ty, as he shows up on screen. She continues to play a few chords or pluck at the strings as the episode goes on — at first to distract herself from the awkwardness of Ty being outed by his sister, and then to keep herself from crying when Ty’s dad accepts him without question. She plays “Two Doors Down” when Dolly herself performs it at the wedding ceremony and sings through to the credits.

Trixie hears a laugh from behind her, and she turns her head to find Katya watching her from the doorway. “What _are_ you doing?”

Trixie plays a chord. “Watching Dolly.”

“Well, okay.” Katya has a towel around her hair, and she lets it down to scrunch her blonde locks. When she’s done, she tosses it over a chair in the kitchen and comes to sit next to Trixie. Her sweatpants are warm, a little damp from the bathroom steam, and her tight tank top leaves her arms bare. Trixie runs a hand over one absently, feeling ridges from some of the newer tattoos. “Put on the next one.”

Trixie nods and starts it. They watch “If I Had Wings” in silence, but for Trixie playing and singing with Dolly. She keeps looking over at Katya to get a read on what she thinks. She knows country isn’t Katya’s favorite genre, but Dolly is important to Trixie, so it matters to her that Katya at least enjoys this. If the tears in her eyes at the end of the episode are anything to go by, she does.

Katya looks at her phone screen and takes a deep breath. Trixie peers over and catches the time — five-thirty, only an hour and a half until the show.

“Should we start getting ready to go?” Trixie asks.

Katya yawns and leans dramatically on top of Trixie. “Yep.”

They go into the bedroom together, and Trixie automatically sits on the edge of the bed. Katya looks at her, hands on her hips and a question on her lips.

“How much time do you need to get ready?”

Trixie shrugs. “I’m ready.”

“You’re wearing that?” Katya’s eyebrows are raised.

“I’m just going to change into my costume,” Trixie says. She crosses her legs and leans back on her hands, laughs at how Katya is looking at her. At least she knows Dolly made her feel better.

Katya goes to her closet and opens the door. “Baby, you might want to bring a change of clothes for the cast dinner.”

“Fuck.” Trixie groans. “I forgot about that.” Well, that ruins her plans of finishing the show, going back to Katya’s, moping, and watching _Heartstrings_ until she falls asleep.

Katya turns around, and she looks a bit apologetic. “It’ll be fun, I promise.” She stretches a hand out and makes a grabbing motion. “Come on, help me pick out what to wear.”

Trixie gets up in a manner that can only be considered _flopping_. She has energy in her somewhere, but if she’s going to put on a fantastic first performance, she needs to conserve it — and that means acting like a mopey brat right now. Katya pulls the light on the top of the walk-in closet and moves so Trixie can see in.

It’s a mess — that’s what Trixie sees at first glance. There’s pretty much no organization, and though Trixie isn’t the most organized person, this is just atrocious. First of all, who mixes jeans with dresses? Why are there three sweaters on one hanger? Most importantly — who would own all these problem-patterns?

The answer steps up behind Trixie and wraps itself around her. Katya’s chin fits on top of Trixie’s right shoulder, and her arms slot over her hips, hands meeting at the bottom of Trixie’s stomach.

“Who taught you how to put your clothes away?” Trixie asks.

Katya laughs below her ear and it tickles. “My mom always did it for me.”

“This is…” Trixie points at it and shudders, causing another low laugh from Katya. “Dark. And not just because of your color scheme.”

“You’ll find something.”

Katya sways Trixie back and forth gently. Her hands are warm on Trixie’s stomach, and Trixie can’t help but think that her hands are right where her baby bump was supposed to be. It was the thing she was the least excited for, but the most expectant of — she was already looking at the cutest options for maternity clothes online. She doesn’t need to anymore, she realizes, and for some reason that isn’t the most welcome of thoughts.

For a moment, Trixie just pretends — she pretends that she’s still pregnant, that just beneath Katya’s hands is a growing little person. She’s not sure where any of this sentimentality was when she was _actually_ pregnant, but she wishes it would just go away. Then she could stop hurting so bad.

“Trixie?” Katya asks, voice still below her ear. She kisses her neck. “Any ideas?”

Trixie steps further into the closet, and Katya’s hands slide from her stomach. _Good_.

She finds a section of the closet that seems to have some dresses — at least, ones that don’t look like they blur the lines of imperial Russian matriarch and go-go dancer. There’s a long-sleeved black dress that has two horizontal zipper pockets at the top and a long, vertical zipper going down the whole front. Trixie pulls this off of the rack and shows it to Katya.

“Is this too casual?” Trixie asks.

Katya sends her a look of mock-offense. “There’s nothing casual about this dress, Mary.” She hugs it against her chest. “It’s perfect. Thanks.”

Trixie steps out of the closet and goes to her own bags while Katya changes. She digs through the clothes, finds a yellow and orange sundress, and packs it in her purse with some sandals. Katya does her makeup in the bathroom, touches up her hair, and then she’s ready to go.

“I have my keys,” Trixie says. “We can get my truck on the way home.”

Katya nods. She takes Trixie’s hand and leads her out of the apartment.

Trixie doesn’t feel much like talking. She’s silent on the way to the theater, only holding Katya’s arm and leaning her cheek against her shoulder on the subway. When they get there, Katya walks her to the costume closet, helps her get her first costume, and then takes her to the dressing room. She stays by her side while the cast hugs Trixie and talks to her to make her feel better. Trixie is thankful, because the sudden energy is making her want to cave into herself. Katya is keeping that from happening.

Kim is working makeup on nights that she isn’t performing, so she’s there and ready to do Trixie’s makeup. They only have forty-five minutes until curtain — enough time to have a full panic attack, but not enough time to take leisure in getting ready. Once Trixie is in the chair, Kim’s hands on her cheeks, Trixie nods to Katya. Katya kneels down, kisses her hand, and then leaves.

“How are you?” Kim asks. She’s focused on doing Trixie’s eyebrows, and for some reason it feels like conversing with her won’t take a lot of effort.

“I feel empty.” Trixie shrugs. “I’m ready to do the show, though.”

Kim swipes a brush around her face. “You’re going to be amazing. Close your eyes.” She starts packing eyeshadow onto Trixie’s lids. “You know how my parents got divorced when I was young?”

“Yeah.”

“That was the year I started theater,” Kim says. “I felt like I was being passed around between my parents so they could prove who cared more, negotiate who deserved more time with me. The only time I actually felt cared for was when I was with the other kids at the theater. Especially the older ones. And then when I was a character, I could pretend like my problems were also her problems, and someone else understood me.”

Trixie opens her eyes and watches Kim get eyeliner. “I’m sorry, Kim.”

“It happened.” Kim shakes her head. “I’m sure you know this, but you’re not alone. And I also bet that you know how to channel your emotions into theater. You’ve been doing it, and you do it well. Let it all out, right here.”

“I will,” Trixie says.

Out of the corner of her eye, Trixie sees Adore approaching. She sits down quietly — a shock — and carefully props her arms on Trixie’s lap, putting her head on her arms. Trixie strokes her hair.

“That feels good.” Adore closes her eyes. Sure, Trixie’s the one feeling all kinds of awful, but comforting Adore relaxes her.

They don’t talk anymore. Trixie can feel how nervous Adore is, and Kim is busy trying to finish her makeup. Their little section of the dressing room feels warm, closed-in but not stifling. Adore is twenty-three, Kim twenty-five, and Trixie feels like she’s had to be older than almost-twenty-one for a while, now; here, though, in their corner, Trixie feels like they’re all just kids playing dress-up. She tries to soak in that moment and remember what it was like to care little about the real world, to be allowed to live in a fantasy acted out in a doll house or on a stage.

By the time Kim finishes Trixie’s hair, they have ten minutes until curtain. Everyone does a last check and then rushes out of the dressing room. The wings are dark but for the guiding lights interspersed around the space. Adore and Asia get microphones, and then they go to the other side of the stage. Trixie’s arms are up, a tech sticking a microphone pack in her costume.

“Say something,” he says.

“Hi.”

The tech shakes his head and presses a button on the cord of his headset. “Thirty-five is out.” He takes off the mic pack and walks away.

They can’t start the show until Trixie’s mic is fixed, so they’re just standing there in limbo. Trixie imagines Bianca is screaming at a good number of people right now — Katya is probably one of them.

Trixie shifts her weight from foot to foot. She’s not nervous, not really. If her brain let her feel _anything_ , she’d feel excited. It’s her first professional show, and that’s a really big deal. Still, though, she feels anxious — like someone is watching her. She knows the audience can’t see her, because the curtain is sealed tightly. Maybe the tech has returned with a new microphone, or maybe—

Trixie looks to her right, and she nearly jumps. Her heart is pounding. She fully turns, and there’s a man — he’s tall and bald with soft features. He has been staring at her, and he continues to stare at her even after she’s caught him. He doesn’t smile or acknowledge the fact that they’re now making eye contact.

Trixie doesn’t smile, either. “I’m Trixie.”

“Trixie Mattel.” He says her name with a little undulation in the middle, like he’s an announcer presenting her to an audience. “Yes, I’ve been told a lot about you. My name is RuPaul.”

So, this is the infamous RuPaul Charles character. His name has been lingering around the theater like a ghost, but here he is, in the flesh. Trixie can tell that he’s old despite the botox, and she thinks he has an air about him that is either inspiring or disarming — and she thinks that he’s in complete control over which he appears as. Right now, he’s giving a little bit of both.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Trixie says, biting her cheek at the half-lie.

She turns her head away from him, gaze returning to the stage, just so she doesn’t have to talk to him anymore. They’re almost a minute late for show time, and Trixie’s wondering what’s taking so long to fix the microphones. They could literally just get her a new one that works, she thinks. Anything to get this man to stop staring at her.

“I heard about your incident yesterday.” RuPaul’s words make her stomach feel like it’s splitting open. Now is not the time for this. Trixie looks at him out of the corner of her eye and clenches her jaw. “I’d offer my condolences, but you and I both know they won’t bring your child back or make you feel any better.”

Trixie fights back a sob with her whole body and wonders if it would be rude to ask this man to _leave her the fuck alone_.

“I could offer some advice, instead?” RuPaul asks.

Trixie looks at him fully, now. “If I said no, would you listen?”

RuPaul laughs. “I always used to say, ‘nothing matters until the stage lights are up,’” he says, ignoring her completely. “It’s a good tool to save your emotion for the performance— it’s a good tool if you want to fight your way to the top. Can’t let this industry, or anything else, get in your head and keep you from winning.” He shakes his head, chuckles under his breath. “If I were a younger man, I’d give you that same advice.”

“And now you’re old?” Trixie asks.

“Now I’m _not young_.” RuPaul narrows his eyes at her. “That mindset is a good way to get to the top, but it’s also a good way to live a cold and lonely life. You’ll get bitter like me, when you could just be _better_.”

Three techs come back, one taking a microphone to RuPaul, the other two coming to work on Trixie. As they’re mic’ed, Trixie stares at him. Her life has taken a lot of turns of late, but this one might be the sharpest; never in her life did she expect to be backstage, waiting to headline a Broadway musical in LA, receiving creepy, off-beat wisdom from an elusive old man. It really can’t get more unique than this.

They test their microphones, and when everything is good, RuPaul disappears. The remaining techs radio Bianca and give her the go-ahead, then they give Trixie her cue before stepping back.

Trixie’s footsteps are quiet as she walks to center stage. Her ingredients are ready, sitting on their little cart, and Trixie puts her hands behind her back to keep from touching them nervously. The crowd murmurs loudly, but the house lights must go out because it hushes all at once. Her heart beats a thousand times over in those few moments before the curtains start to be pulled. Trixie remembers to breathe, tries to talk herself through it. _One breath, two breaths…_ She closes her eyes.

“ _Sugar_.”

* * *

Two and a half hours later, the whole company is gathered on the stage, save RuPaul and Bob. The show ends the same way it begins, almost.

“Jenna,” Kennedy, as Cal, starts, “what’s the special pie today?”

Trixie holds up a pie and smiles. “Old Joe’s Slice of Heaven Pie, with tomata’ on the side—”

“On its own plate!” Trixie, Adore, and Asia say together, mimicking the late Joe.

The music kicks in, and Trixie is handed a clipboard. Jenna has taken over the diner, now, with the help of her friends and with the spirit of her five-year-old daughter, Lulu. They sing the final reprise of “Opening Up” while dancing around with pies.

“ _And we’re opening up to what’s inside of love_!” Everyone sings. Trixie dances with the little girl playing Lulu. “ _What’s inside?_ ”

Trixie picks up the girl and props her on her hip. “ _Sugar, butter, flour_.”

A neon sign that says “Lulu’s Pies” descends from the ceiling, the little girl kisses Trixie’s cheek, and then they all pause. The crowd jumps to its feet — Trixie sees every adult and every child with their wide eyes on _her_ , their applause for _her_. She’s overwhelmed with her own exhaustion and the love of the crowd, the emotions that the show brought and then the ultimate payoff.

The curtain closes, dampening the applause but not eliminating it. Trixie puts the girl down and turns around. Her cast is behind her, and they all rush her. Everyone is freaking out and wordlessly as they can. Adore’s arm is tight around her neck, Kameron is leaning over her to join in the hug. Asia’s on the outside, and she’s the first to notice the crew signaling the curtain call.

“Bows!” Asia whispers, and then everyone disperses and lines up.

The curtain opens. They sing while appearing in groups, first the ensemble, then the principal actors. Trixie and the little girl come out just after Adore and Asia. Once they’re all on stage, the crowd is at its feet. They finish the last few lines of the song and the curtain closes. The lights behind the stage dim. On the other side of the red velvet, the crowd is dispersing loudly, so the company is allowed to yell.

Adore screams first, then Ben. Soon, everyone is yelling congratulations, screeching out the last of their nerves, and reveling in the feeling of a successful first show. Trixie doesn’t scream, though. Her body feels so full with emotion that it stuffs her throat. It’s that moment that her body decides to have a full meltdown, because suddenly she can’t breathe. All of the emotion that she had to conjure up — pretending to be pregnant instead of actually _being_ pregnant for the first time, pretending to give birth to a daughter and remake her life — it’s choking her and she thinks that she might actually die if she doesn’t get it out soon.

Trixie’s eyes are wide. She spots Bob at the edge of the crowd, and he miraculously looks at her at just the right time; it’s then that she darts off of the stage, through the curtains to the left wing, into the hallway. The tears are already on her face by the time she makes it to the dressing room, but she doesn’t feel them. She goes to the vanity in front of the mirror, puts her hands down and leans close to the glass. Trixie doesn’t even recognize herself right now. Her makeup is running off with salty tears, black lining her quickly-reddening eyes. It doesn’t matter, though, because her face is starting to fade and dissolve into little spots of red and black.

Trixie falls to her knees, her head landing atop her arms at the counter. She’s sobbing, her whole body shaking so that the vanity trembles and someone’s cup of brushes spills. Trixie doesn’t even know what she’s crying about — everything, she supposes. She fucking left home, pregnant and poor, and came to this city having to figure it out on her own. She lied to everyone she knew until she was found out. She finally got a grasp on being a mother and lost that, just like she lost everything else — and the character that she channeled her life into gets to live out the happy ending she knows she’ll never have.

Arms wrap around her shoulders, tugging her away from the vanity and back against someone’s chest. She looks down, sees the dark complexion and hint of a tattoo — it’s Bob. Adore appears in front of her, her hands cupping Trixie’s cheeks.

“Honey, Trixie, listen to me,” Adore says. Trixie can hear her, and that’s a sign that her panic isn’t devastating. “Bob is here, I’m here. Do you want me to get Katya?”

Trixie nods. She squeezes her eyes shut and lets Bob hold her through her sobs, his grip warm and tight. Her head falls against his shoulder because she’s too tired to keep it up. Everything she has is going into crying.

Adore comes back with Katya quickly — Trixie figures Katya was already on her way to find Trixie after the show. Bob doesn’t let Trixie go until Katya is on her knees in front of Trixie and ready to hold her. Then, her hands wrap around Trixie and they don’t let go. Trixie’s throat is raw from singing and crying, but she’s still rasping out sobs. Katya kisses her hairline and holds her tight.

“It’s okay, baby. You can let it out,” Katya says.

Trixie knows she can, and she knows it’s what she needs to do. Throughout the performance, she honed every emotion she had felt for the last two months, brought it to the surface and presented it for an audience of strangers. In the end, the applause couldn’t get rid of it — it took over her soul and sat with her to a point that she couldn’t control. It’s time to let it go.

Trixie isn’t sure how long she cries, but no one interrupts her. By the time she’s done, most of her makeup is gone, replaced by red lipstick stains left by Katya’s mouth. Her vocal cords feel like they’re scratching together with every whimper, her eyes are so puffy that she might not be able to see properly. She looks up, finally, and sees Katya looking at her. Katya has been crying, too.

“Don’t cry,” Trixie whispers, wiping a tear from Katya’s face.

Katya laughs. “Hey, I’m the one doing the comforting, here.” She sniffles and looks away, trying to stop her tears. “You were amazing, Trixie. It’s the best you’ve ever been.”

Trixie feels empty — she just let out months of frustration, anxiety, rejection, loss, and pain, cried it out on the dressing room floor where it belongs. She feels empty because she is empty, and now all she needs is to fill the space that was left behind. Katya’s arms, her words, her beautiful face are the most perfect start she needs.

She’s already so close to Katya, still half on her lap and in her arms, but Trixie needs her closer. Her hand sliders over Katya’s shoulder to the back of her neck, and she tugs Katya down so that she can reach her lips. Trixie kisses Katya like it’s the first time again; she kisses her like Katya is the fount of happiness and Trixie is dying to bathe herself in it.

Trixie pulls away, just so she can look at Katya again and remind herself that she’s not going to lose this, too. “Thank you.”

Katya smiles. She still looks concerned, worried that Trixie will crumble again and cry, so Trixie smiles to let her know that she’s okay.

“I got you flowers,” Katya says. Instead of getting them, she kisses Trixie again, blindly scouring the floor with her hand. She pulls back when she finds them. “They’re a little smushed, now.”

She produces a small bouquet of pink roses mixed with sweet peas. Admittedly, some of the sweet peas are missing and there’s a smushed rose here and there, but it’s a dainty little bouquet. Trixie takes it in her hands and lets the petals brush her face.

“I love them, smushed and all.”

Katya actually looks shy, and it makes Trixie want to kiss her more. “I’m glad.” She gently moves Trixie so she’s sitting on the ground, then stands up and starts looking around the dressing room. “Is your purse in here?”

“Under the chair, on the end,” Trixie says, pointing despite the fact that Katya has already found it. She picks it up and brings it to the vanity.

“Let’s get you dressed.”

Katya unzips Trixie’s costume while Trixie wipes her face down. Underneath the remnants of her makeup, her face is splotchy and tear-stained. She dries her face with a towel and then starts putting makeup back on. Katya takes her dress from her purse, shakes the folds out, and holds it for Trixie so Trixie can step out of her costume and pull the sundress over her head. With that done, both Trixie and Katya focus on Trixie’s face. Trixie does her eyeliner thicker than usual to try and cover the redness, and Katya evens out her face with blush.

“You look beautiful,” Katya says once they’ve finished. She combs Trixie’s curls with her fingers, and drapes them over one shoulder, pressing a kiss to the exposed side of Trixie’s neck.

Trixie pulls Katya into her side. “Thanks.” She lets out a long sigh, the last remnants of emotion escaping her body. “I’m ready.”

The whole cast, and Bianca, is waiting for them at the end of the hallway. When they spot Trixie, they applaud her until she reaches them and waves for them to stop.

“Everyone did fantastic,” Bianca says, drawing them all near her. “Take care of yourselves and keep your energy up, because that really was a perfect performance. Now—” Bianca smiles and pulls Adore into her side. “—no more talking about the show, because it’s time to celebrate.”

“And it’s finally time for Bianca to get drunk!” Adore yells, and everyone cheers.

Kim holds up her hand like she’s in class. “Wait, no one move. I want a picture.”

They crowd together, Kam and Ben hugging, Bob leaning on top of Kennedy, Asia and Bianca smiling properly. Trixie and Katya squish in, RuPaul at Katya’s side. Adore lays on the ground in front of them. Kim takes a few pictures, then she grabs a tech to take some with her in it. She stands at Trixie’s side and leans her arm on Trixie’s shoulder.

When that’s done, they disperse to make their way to the restaurant. Trixie hangs back and waits for Kim to retrieve her phone, looking at the pictures over her shoulder.

“Send that to me,” Trixie says, pointing at her favorite photo. It’s the one where everyone looks the best, except Adore, who looks the weirdest — and it’s the one where Katya’s eyes are on Trixie.

Kim nods and sends it immediately. Trixie’s phone buzzes in her purse, and she takes it out to save the photo. She stares at it for a moment longer.

“Babe,” Trixie calls. Katya is a few paces down the hallway waiting for her and Kim. She looks up from the ground, startled, and then she smiles big and bright. It’s the first time Trixie has called her that.

“Yes?”

“I want to post this on Instagram.” Trixie holds up her phone as she walks towards Katya. “What should I caption it?”

Katya thinks for a moment. “‘It only takes a taste’?”

“Ew, that’s cheesy,” Kim says, joining them. “I like it.”

Trixie nods. “Me too.”

As they walk down the hallway, Trixie opens Instagram and starts scrolling through the filters. Katya’s hand finds her back to guide her while she’s distracted. Trixie sighs in frustration after a few moments — none of the filters look good, there’s always something off. She decides to leave it natural, because that’s the only way that it can capture the essence of their little family. She tags everyone who has an Instagram and posts it, then turns her phone off and puts it in her purse.

Katya takes them out through the back door and they make their way to the restaurant. They’re approaching mid-August, but the night air is still thick with heat. Trixie fans herself almost as soon as she gets outside. The heat doesn’t stop her from pressing into Katya’s side as they walk, though, and Kim stays close next to Trixie.

“When is your first show, Kim?” Trixie asks.

“Adore has a gig this Tuesday, so then.”

Katya leans in front of Trixie. “Are you excited?”

“I really, really am,” Kim says. “I even got a new blush palette that I’m saving for the show.”

“Can I try it that night? What’s it called?” Trixie really needs to go to the MAC store with Kim, since she always seems to have some new makeup to try.

Kim nods. “Sure. It’s called ‘Summer of Love,’ and Adore keeps making fun of me because one of the blushes is called ‘Girl on Girl.’”

“That’s gay,” Katya says, laughing like a fucking middle school boy.

Trixie nudges Katya with her elbow. “You’re gay.”

“You’re _both_ gay.” Kim smirks at them, and they all devolve into laughter.

It’s the best Trixie’s felt all night.

They’re the last ones to the restaurant, but no one seems to care. RuPaul and Kennedy are in what Trixie assumes is a _rivetingly_ boring conversation; Asia, Bob, and Kameron are scanning the menus; and Adore is encouraging shots into Ben and Bianca. The restaurant is a Mexican-Soul fusion in a bar-grill setting, so they aren’t obnoxiously loud, but their table is definitely the liveliest in the place.

Katya puts her hands on Bianca’s shoulders when they approach, and Bianca tries to look up at her. “How far are you?”

“She’s had three shots,” Adore says with a proud smile.

“I’d like a few more, and a martini.” Bianca pats Katya’s hand and picks up a drink menu. “Or something pink. Adore, angel, can you order me something pink?”

Trixie pulls Katya away from Bianca and towards their seats at the other end of the table. “We should probably sit down and get started. She’s going to need something to eat soon.”

“You’re so smart,” Katya says. She kisses Trixie’s cheek, then pulls out her chair and lets Trixie sit before doing so herself.

Kameron is on her other side, and he smiles at her when he notices her beside him. Kim is across the table, between Kennedy and Asia. Bob is at the end with Katya, and Ben has found his way to the foot of the table, opposite Bianca, who is nearly spilling a cocktail on RuPaul’s expensive-looking suit.

“How long do you think we’ll last before someone complains?” Trixie asks Kam.

Kam laughs. “Like, two minutes.”

“That’s generous,” Katya supplies from the other side of Trixie.

Trixie starts scanning the menu in hopes that the waiter will be over soon and they’ll all be ready. She’s honestly pretty hungry — doing a whole musical production and then crying for twenty minutes really takes it out of a girl. The spicy fried chicken and elote sounds good to her; after she picks her food, her eyes find the drink menu.

Trixie leans closer to Katya. “Will you order me a drink?”

“No.” Katya doesn’t even take her eyes off of her menu, but Trixie still pouts.

“But you were going to order me one at Jacques’.”

“I was.”

Trixie dips her head, tries to catch Katya’s gaze. “And what’s different? I’m literally going to be twenty-one in a week, anyway, and I haven’t had a—”

“I said no, Trixie.” It’s harsh, the sternest Katya has ever sounded with Trixie. “Something bad just happened to you. I can’t, in good conscience, get you alcohol.”

Katya looks at Trixie, finally, and her face is more pained than angry. Trixie understands — it’s how habits start.

Trixie puts her hand on Katya’s arm. “Okay. I’m sorry.” She wraps her fingers around Katya’s wrist, brings her hand to her lips and kisses it.

“It’s all right, baby.” Katya’s eyes soften, and she strokes her thumb over Trixie’s chin.

“Katya?” Trixie says. Katya nods, and Trixie leans in closer, lowers her voice. “I want you to know I’m okay. I’m not great, but I’m not devastated anymore. I’m just… empty. For now.”

Katya smiles at her, and Trixie can see the hope in her eyes. Trixie never thought that she would find someone so invested in her, so enamored with her that she could inspire the look that Katya’s giving her. It makes Trixie _want_ to heal, not just because the emotional toll is exhausting, but because there’s something to heal for.

Bianca stands up, her pink cocktail raised. “I just want to say thank you. You’re all good-for-nothing, idiotic cunts, and you’ve made my life a living hell for the last six weeks, but tonight proved that it was all worth it.” There’s a little laugh that’s passed around the table as Bianca takes a sip of her drink. “You people— Kennedy, Asia, Ben, Bob, Kameron, Kimberly, _Adore_ —” Her eyes practically turn into hearts, and everyone laughs. “—you have made my last few shows so vibrant and thrilling, and it’s been even better this time around.”

“RuPaul,” Bianca continues after another sip of her cocktail, “one of my oldest friends. Thank you for always coming back to me when I need you most.” Trixie eyes the waiter behind Bianca. He’s waiting for her toast to end, but it’s been so long that he looks like he’s about to cut her off. “Katya, you’re a pain in the ass and I love you.” Katya lifts her water in the air and laughs.

“And Trixie— the newest and the youngest of us.” Bianca smiles at Trixie so sincerely that Trixie thinks she might cry again. “I am so very proud of you, I have been since the moment you walked into our theater and started flirting with Zamo.” The table erupts into laughter. “To everyone at this table: you are all the family I have left, so thank you for being the best one a bitch could ask for.”

Everyone raises their glasses, clinking them against one another in a cacophony of vibrating glass. Trixie sees Katya dab a tear from the corner of her eye with her knuckle, and she puts her hand on Katya’s knee under the table. Bianca finally sits down and knocks back the rest of her cocktail, Adore lays her head on Bianca’s shoulder. Bob hugs Ben, Kam sniffles. Trixie watches them — her family — sit and laugh and cry together. Yeah, this is something worth healing for.

* * *

Trixie’s isn’t breathing. She realizes this in her dream, and somehow her body knows to wake her up. She jolts, heart pounding, unsure whether or not she’s still being dragged away by a bloody hand. Her arm bumps against Katya’s back — warm and firm. Trixie grabs at her blindly.

“Katya,” Trixie whispers. Katya doesn’t move, and for a second she thinks that it wasn’t just a dream, that Katya is dead. “Katya?”

When Katya still doesn’t move, Trixie puts her hand on Katya’s hip and shakes her. She feels bad, since Katya is probably soundly asleep, but it’s getting harder to breathe and she needs to see Katya’s eyes.

Katya turns onto her back, half on top of Trixie. “Mhm? Trix?”

“Katya.” Trixie whimpers, and before her first tear falls, Katya’s holding her tightly. She doesn’t cry, exactly, but she starts to hyperventilate. Her breaths puff against Katya’s chest roughly. Katya’s hand strokes her back, her hair, fingers combing through her scalp and gently scratching her neck.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Katya asks. Her voice is soft, thick with sleep but present.

Trixie sniffles. “I… I had a bad dream.” Her words get caught in her throat, and she clears it. “We were at the theater and there was a murderer chasing us. My sister was there, too. I was pregnant still, like really pregnant, about to give birth. He was coming, and I told Iris to run, I was right behind her— and then I fell.” Trixie squeezes her eyes shut and presses against Katya’s chest harder.

“Shh, it’s okay.”

“I couldn’t save anyone,” Trixie says quietly.

Katya kisses the crown of her head. “That’s okay. You don’t have to save anyone. We’re all fine, we’re all safe.”

Trixie’s breathing slows. Katya is quiet while she calms down, her hand continuing to touch every reachable inch of Trixie to ground her in reality. She feels Katya’s chin press into her head as she yawns, and Trixie instantly feels awful again.

“I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“It’s fine, Trix,” Katya says. She scoots away from Trixie a little, dips her head to meet at eye level. “I am always here for you, no matter what time it is.”

Trixie’s lips pull into a smile. “You’re too good to me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Trixie insists, punctuates it with a kiss to Katya’s nose.

Katya shrugs. “So what if I am? We all have talents, mama, mine is just making you feel good.” As soon as she says it, her eyes go comically wide. “I didn’t mean it like— fuck, sorry, I just was trying to—”

Trixie cuts her off with a kiss, the last of Katya’s words still babbled against her lips. She kisses her slowly, takes Katya’s lower lip between her teeth and sucks on it, just a little. Katya makes a small noise in her throat, and Trixie smiles so much that she breaks the kiss.

“Making me feel good is one of your talents, Barbara,” Trixie says, laughing. Katya’s smile is big and bright, and Trixie can’t stop staring at her lips, the hollows of her cheeks as they scrunch into a smile, the blue in her eyes that stands out in the dark. Trixie knows she, herself, is smiling like an idiot, but she doesn’t care. “God, I love you.”

Katya’s smile drops and her lips part. “You… what?”

“Sorry, that wasn’t very romantic.” Trixie bites her lip, heart pounding. “It’s true, though. I know we haven’t really been— well, we haven’t been together at all, and…” Trixie looks down and shakes her head. “Maybe it’s stupid. Never mind.”

“No! No, it’s not” Katya says. She tilts Trixie’s chin up, thumb trailing over her skin. “I love you.”

“You don’t have to say it to make me happy.”

Katya shakes her head. “I’m not. You think I’d act a fool for six weeks over just anyone?”

Trixie thinks back to all the times Katya literally tripped over her, the longing stares, the touches that lasted a few seconds too long. The way Katya would sometimes be pressed right next to her, like on her sofa during the party, or in the booth at the diner, and the way it felt like they were the axis that the world turned on. Every time they slept together Katya would be stiff and small until Trixie coaxed her way into Katya’s arms.

“You did act a fool,” Trixie says.

“Hey!”

“A cute fool.” Trixie kisses her. “A fool that I love.”

“I love you.” Katya nuzzles into Trixie, hiding her yawn beneath Trixie’s chin. She places a kiss to Trixie’s tender skin there, then wraps her arm around Trixie’s waist. “Sleep time, baby.”

Trixie nods, her chin rubbing over Katya’s head, and she reaches her fingers under Katya’s t-shirt, tickles her lower back with featherlight touches. She feels Katya smile into her neck.

Trixie sleeps dreamlessly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. Sorry for the hiatus, I had a lot to do with finals and I sort of felt like this story sucked for a little so I didn't have any motivation to write it. I finished this chapter a little over a month ago and I've anticipated posting it for a while, and I feel like I can probably get back to writing now so here it is.
> 
> Also, I'm very self conscious about it, but especially the end, so if you could leave nice comments I'd really appreciate it.

The shows only get marginally easier each day. Trixie had her one big cry on opening night, and she hasn’t cried since; still, Katya can tell that she’s putting herself through a lot having to relive a pregnancy over and over again. After the second show, Trixie went to dinner with Kim, Adore, and Asia while Bianca and Katya did some scheduling at the theater. The third show ended with Trixie barely being able to drive home because she was so tired. Katya had to practically feed her and tuck her into bed.

It’s Tuesday, now, and they’re going into night four. The show still feels new; it won’t harden into a routine for another week or so. Katya hopes that, as it becomes more second-nature, Trixie will find it easier. For now, though, it’s difficult. Trixie has been spending her mornings drifting between the bed and the sofa, sometimes stopping for a glass of water. It doesn’t worry Katya, necessarily, and she’d be happy to let Trixie do it if she thought it was helping — but it really isn’t. If anything, it’s making things worse.

Trixie is an extroverted introvert, Katya has learned, and she knows that, if given the chance, Trixie will slip into a habit of hibernation. She’ll barricade herself, physically and mentally, and won’t move until she’s energized by something. Katya has been ruminating over this, thinking of ways to energize Trixie — and, as she watches Trixie scroll mindlessly on her phone with the television playing in the background, Katya realizes that it doesn’t even need to be energetic.

Katya gathers her phone and goes to the door, looking in the little bowl that holds her house keys. “Where are your car keys?”

“In my purse.” Trixie doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Why?”

“Can I have them?”

Now Trixie looks at Katya, brow furrowed. “What for?”

“To drive,” Katya says, hand outstretched, like her plan is obvious. Trixie just stares at her, eyes wide. “Don’t look at me like that. I know how to drive, Mary, my license is still valid.”

“Where are you going?”

Katya walks over to the sofa and pulls Trixie’s legs over the side so her feet are on the floor. “ _We’re_ going on a trip.”

Trixie pouts, whines just a bit. It would probably be more frustrating to Katya if her lips weren’t so fucking kissable — and she does just that, leans down and kisses the pout from Trixie’s lips. She feels Trixie’s hand skim her cheek, then grasp at the back of her neck, tugging her lower. Katya smiles and pulls away.

“Uh-uh, nope. We’re going,” Katya says. She takes Trixie’s hand and pulls her up from the sofa, nudges her towards her purse on the kitchen counter. “Keys, please.”

Trixie groans but complies. “We have a show tonight.”

“We’ll be back in time.” Katya takes the keys from Trixie and kisses her cheek. “Trust me, baby, this is going to be good. Can you do that?”

“Yeah.” Trixie chews on her lip, but Katya can see a little smile at the corner of her mouth. She takes the win and leads Trixie out the door.

Twenty minutes later, they’re flying down the Pacific Coast Highway. Katya is at the wheel, the ocean stretching for miles to her left, Trixie staring at the hills on her right. They haven’t spoken much at all — Trixie was sulking, at first, but now Katya can tell that she’s just in awe of the scenery. Katya doesn’t know much about Wisconsin, but she’s sure it looks nothing like this.

Her hand has been on Trixie’s bare thigh for most of the trip, fingers rubbing shapes over her warm skin. Trixie’s own hand grasps Katya’s fingers to still her movements, but she doesn’t let go. When Katya sneaks a quick glance, she sees Trixie smiling. Katya’s phone dings with a text message, and then another one. She sighs, knowing exactly who it is, and scoots her hand from under Trixie’s to pick up her phone from the cupholder.

“Here,” Trixie says, reaching for Katya’s phone. “I’ll check it for you.”

“You’re not gonna understand it.” Katya unlocks it with her eyes quickly, then gives it to Trixie as she refocuses on the road.

“You’re…” Trixie bites her lip, and Katya laughs. “Right. This is in Russian.”

“It’s my mom, she’s been texting me all morning. Have Siri read it to me.”

Trixie taps on the phone, and then the Russian robot is speaking. “Что ж, мы не можем прилететь раньше выходных. Как ты думаешь, мы могли бы остаться с тобой?”

Katya rolls her eyes — of course they can’t get flights. “Can you do the voice-text thing?”

“Sure.” Trixie holds the phone closer to Katya’s mouth and presses the button.

“В моей квартире тебе негде спать. Если вы хотите приехать в эти выходные, вам нужно забронировать авиабилеты сегодня,” Katya says. When she’s done, she nods to Trixie, who hits send.

“Is everything okay?” Trixie asks.

Katya lets out a long breath, shakes out her shoulders. “My parents want to come see the show this week, but they put off planning their trip until the last minute. They don’t have a flight or a hotel and they’re trying to figure it out now.”

“I’m sure they’ll be able to get it together.”

“You don’t understand.” Katya looks at Trixie out of the corner of her eye. “They are literally so disorganized and I always end up handling their trips. The only time my mom got her shit together was when she got so sick of us that she just straight-up flew to China, unannounced.”

Trixie shrugs. “I mean, I would, too, if I were your mom.” She sticks her tongue out at Katya when Katya shoots her a glare. “Anyway, it can’t be too hard to get them here. You just need a flight and a hotel, easy.”

“Baby, she makes it so difficult. She just asked if they could stay with me.”

“Oh.” Katya bites back a laugh at how nervous Trixie sounds. It’s silent for a few moments, and Katya can practically hear how hard Trixie is thinking. “What did you tell her?”

“I said no. Being in a confined space with them is hard enough on my own, I don’t need them driving both of us crazy,” Katya says. She doesn’t miss the way her heart flutters when she says _us_ , or the way that Trixie smiles at her. It’s still a wonder to think that the word _us_ describes the two of them.

Another text comes through, and before Katya can even ask, Trixie plays the message. Katya groans — her mother has just gotten a flight for Friday night, staying through Sunday night. That leaves them one day to see the show and visit Katya, and they’ve picked the worst one possible.

Katya clears her throat. “So, don’t hate me.”

“What’s wrong?” Trixie’s hand finds Katya’s wrist and tightens around it.

“They just got flights.”

“Okay, that’s good…” Trixie stares at the side of her head — she knows something isn’t right.

“The only show they can make is the one on your birthday,” Katya says. “I know I promised you we’d go out for your birthday, and we still can, they’re just—” Katya’s left hand tightens on the steering wheel. She wants to call her mom and yell at her, but she knows it won’t help. “I’ll ask them to come another time.”

“No, it’s fine.” Trixie nudges Katya’s arm. “We don’t have to do anything for my birthday.”

Katya gasps in faux-offense. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that, okay. Wow. And to think I had a whole event planned, a ten-piece orchestra, catering, and you don’t even want to do it.”

“Babe.” Trixie giggles, and that sound, combined with that cute little pet-name, makes Katya feel dizzy.

“Okay, I lied. I didn’t get the orchestra.” Katya smiles as Trixie pokes her cheek gently. “I refuse to not celebrate your birthday, especially your twenty-first. I’ve already talked to Kim and Adore and made reservations, so you can’t back out, not now.”

“We’re going to dinner?” Trixie asks.

Katya nods. “And to a gay bar.”

Trixie doesn’t say anything, but she can’t hide the excited look on her face. Katya already feels like she’s made the right choice for Trixie’s birthday. “Well, invite your parents to dinner.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal.” Trixie links her fingers through Katya’s right hand.

“It is a big deal,” Katya says. “You’re always a big deal.”

Trixie wraps around Katya’s arm, practically hugging it to her body. Katya shifts so she can still drive comfortably. Trixie kisses the inside of her elbow, up her bicep a little. It tickles, and Katya laughs and shakes her arm.

“Look.” Katya points out the windshield with a nod of her chin. Trixie lifts her head and looks with Katya at how the land drops off like cliffs into sand and the way the buildings are wedged in the side of the earth. Houses, churches, schools, and restaurants are nestled into the green hills. “Welcome to Malibu.”

Katya pulls off of the PCH while Trixie marvels at the landscape. Trixie rolls down her window and practically sticks her head out, and Katya has the urge to pull her back inside so her head doesn’t hit anything. She looks like a puppy, and it’s fucking adorable.

“Open your window,” Trixie says when she settles back into her seat. “It smells like the ocean.”

Katya laughs. “That’s because we’re next to the ocean, Trix.”

She opens her window anyway, letting the warm air blow her hair around her face. Trixie reaches to the truck console and flicks on the old radio. It’s staticky at first, but Trixie tunes it through the stations. She stumbles upon one that plays the classics, and when she hears the chords of “Good Vibrations” by The Beach Boys, she leaves the station on and turns the volume up high.

“Are you feeling the good vibes?” Trixie shouts over the music.

“Good vibes only,” Katya yells back. They laugh, and then Trixie starts singing along. Katya knows that she’s heard Trixie sing almost every day for two months, but she will never get tired of it.

Trixie’s left hand holds Katya’s in her lap. Her right hand hangs out the window, riding the wind currents like they are waves. People on the street stare at them as they pass in Trixie’s beat-up truck with the music loud. Frankly, Katya does not give a _fuck_. Trixie is grinning so much, her cheeks flushed, and just her profile is the most beautiful thing Katya has ever seen. At a red light, Katya takes her phone from the cupholder and snaps a quick photo so she can remember Trixie like that forever.

Katya navigates them to the nearest Shake Shack, and Trixie turns down the radio as they pull in.

“Milkshakes?” Katya asks. Trixie nods vehemently, so Katya takes them through the drive-through. “What kind?”

Trixie purses her lips as she scans the menu. “Strawberry.”

“Of course.”

“What?” Trixie swats at her shoulder, and Katya dodges it.

“It’s pink, just like you,” Katya says.

“I’m not—” Trixie looks down at herself before she can continue, and then she looks at Katya guiltily. Katya laughs. She’s in pink-and-green patterned shorts and a white tank top, her eyeshadow is blush, and even her phone case is pussy-pink. “Whatever, I like what I like.”

Katya laughs and pulls out her wallet before she gets to the microphone. The worker’s tinny voice asks what they want, and Katya orders Trixie’s strawberry milkshake and a vanilla one for herself. She pulls up to the the window and exchanges a few dollars for the shakes. Trixie takes both of them so Katya can situate herself, and then gives it back to her once they’re driving again.

“So if I’m strawberry-pink,” Trixie says, “what does your vanilla shake say about you, hm?” Her face looks so innocent, but her eyebrows are raised accusatorially as she sips her milkshake.

Katya laughs and smirks. “Oh, baby, you don’t even know what you’re talking about. Come see me when you have the facts.”

Trixie chokes on her milkshake, cheeks quickly turning a bright red. Katya shrugs and drives on.

The next place Katya takes them is to the drug store. Trixie looks at her like she’s kidnapped her. Katya just ignores her, pulling into a space and shutting the engine off.

“You wanna come in or wait here?”

Trixie lifts her shoulder. “What do we need?”

“Well, I didn’t have any beach stuff at the apartment, and I don’t feel like getting sand in my ass.” Katya gathers her phone, wallet, and the car keys and opens the door. She smiles when she sees Trixie practically bouncing in her seat and then scrambling to get out of the truck. Katya does the same, rounding the front to meet Trixie on the way into the store. “We need towels, sunglasses, sunscreen, maybe some cheap chairs if they have them.”

The doors open for them automatically. Trixie takes Katya’s hand and squeezes it, pulling her down the first aisle they get to.

“Did you know that I’ve never been to the beach?”

“That’s tragic,” Katya says. The store isn’t busy, so they move pretty quickly towards the beach section.

Trixie stops abruptly and Katya jerks to a halt with her. “Here.” She lets go of Katya’s hand, replacing her own with her half-finished milkshake. Katya holds both cups while Trixie scans the rack that she’s stopped them at. “What do you think?”

She turns around, and Katya cackles. Half of Trixie’s face is covered by the bright-red round frames of the sunglasses she’s modeling. Trixie pouts and turns her head from side to side, giving Katya all the angles.

“You look like a bug.” Katya wheezes a laugh again and taps the top of the glasses so they slide down Trixie’s nose and reveal her eyes. “Try another pair.”

Trixie snags a pair of knock-off aviators with reflective lenses and puts them on her face. “Better?”

“Better.”

She slides them to the crown of her head, returning to the rack. Trixie scans the rest of the glasses, turns the rack slowly, and then finds a pair of black, round-frame glasses with gold trim. She turns to Katya with a big grin.

“Don’t move,” Trixie says. She opens the sunglasses, and Katya suddenly has a vision of Trixie poking her in the eye with one of the arms. She tries not to flinch when they slide over her temples and one side pokes her ear. “These are great. You’re getting them.”

Katya actually gets the chance to see them when Trixie steps back. She does think she looks pretty good, but the way Trixie is looking at her right now tells her more than her own reflection does. Trixie takes her milkshake back from Katya, and they move on.

The store sells crappy beach towels, so they get two of those, and a few different types of sunscreen. They stroll towards the checkout slowly, passing through the makeup section. Trixie’s eyes are trained on the wall, and after a moment she goes to a line of pink products. Katya rolls her eyes and continues walking until she finds a collection of red lipsticks. She has the towels and a few sunscreens in her hand, as well as the sunglasses, so she shifts them around to pluck out the tester lipsticks and look at the colors.

Trixie slurps her milkshake loudly, having come to Katya’s side. “You have a million red lipsticks in your bathroom, babe, I don’t think you need more.” Katya just looks at her, and Trixie raises her eyebrows, slurping once again. Katya shrugs and pulls out another lipstick. “The red dye is made from beetles, you know.”

Katya finds a deep shade of red that she likes — and ignores a voice in her head, _Trixie’s_ voice, that tells her she already owns identical lipstick. She finds an unopened package of it and secures it in her hand, shifting the rest of her items so she can walk without dropping them.

“I say fuck them beetles.”

The cashier looks at them strangely when they put their stuff down but tiredly goes through the motions of checking them out. Katya remembers the aviators that are on Trixie’s head and plucks them off, thankfully remembering to pay for them. Getting clocked for stealing a three-dollar pair of glasses is not on her agenda.

They dump their items in the bed of Trixie’s truck, snagging their sunglasses and depositing the tags in the trash. They aren’t very far from the beach, evident by the thick and salty air, so Katya just drives down a nearby road in search of a park that doesn’t look too crowded. When she finds one, she pulls off the road and secures them a parking spot right near the beach hut and showers.

Trixie is practically skipping. She throws away her empty milkshake and then gathers the towels and the sunscreen before Katya can even help. Katya gets rid of her own cup as she follows. They go to the wooden stairs, the sand already finding its way between Katya’s toes. As soon as she hits the beach surface, Trixie flicks off her shoes and trudges towards the shore. Katya laughs and takes off her own shoes, picks them up along with Trixie’s, and then meets her out on the beach.

Katya helps Trixie lay the towels down, a bit haphazardly, and Katya doesn’t even get a word in by the time Trixie is at the water’s edge. She gets the face sunscreen and takes it to the shore for Trixie. A wave comes in and splashes gently over Trixie’s toes. She shrieks, jumps back, and turns to Katya, nose wrinkled.

“It’s cold.”

“Yeah,” Katya says with a laugh. “Come here.” She clicks open the cap of the sunscreen and squirts some on her fingers, dotting different parts of Trixie’s face with it. Trixie smears it over her skin, and Katya does the same for herself. “What do you think?”

Trixie looks around, scans the shore that’s littered with people, umbrellas, coolers, then looks at the rippling surf and the heads that bob with the undulating waves. “It’s exhilarating but also calm, if that makes sense?”

“It does. The waves are strong, but they’re rhythmic. You could sit here for hours and watch them come and go. They’re just going to be doing the same thing.”

Trixie’s arm slides around Katya’s waist, and she taps her cheek with her finger. “That was very poetic.”

“Thanks.”

“I like the noise.” Trixie looks over Katya’s shoulder, back to the beach. “Like you said, the waves are rhythmic, I can feel them in my chest like a beat. Also the people, the way everyone is talking or playing music and it all becomes a quiet, comforting hum.”

Katya nudges Trixie’s hip with her own. “Now who’s poetic?”

Trixie laughs and shakes her head. A wave comes in, bigger than the last few, and the foam crawls up the sand and over their feet. Trixie squeals again, and Katya shivers at the sudden temperature change in her toes.

“How do people swim when it’s this cold?” Trixie asks.

“I don’t know, I don’t usually go in.” Katya’s hand grasps Trixie’s waist, her other hand slowly coming to the other side. “Wanna try?”

She jerks quickly, pushing Trixie just a hare, pretending like she’s going to shove her into the water. Trixie shrieks and grabs Katya’s arms tightly.

“Katya, I swear to fucking God!”

Katya releases her waist and puts her hands up. “I won’t!”

“Good,” Trixie says, eyes narrowed, “because if I’m going in I’m taking you with me.”

Katya backs away, but she doesn’t go far when she sees Trixie’s glare turn into a grin. Fuck, Katya’s never seen eyes that dark and pretty, or a smile so imperfectly beautiful. She doesn’t know what to do with herself — how could she when she’s captivated by this living goddess framed by the sparkling sea?

Before Katya realizes it, Trixie takes two steps and throws her arms around Katya’s waist, rests her head beneath Katya’s chin. It’s a little awkward, since Trixie is taller than her, but Trixie just digs her feet in the sand so she can press her cheek against Katya’s chest. Now Katya can feel her smile, and she thinks that maybe she wants to get it tattooed right there.

“I love you,” Trixie whispers. She pulls back and grabs Katya’s hand, tugs her up the beach to their towels. She just barely smooths one out before dropping down on it. Katya’s still standing, so Trixie pulls on her calf to get her to sit down and settle between her legs.

Katya falls back pretty gracelessly, but Trixie doesn’t seem to mind. It’s the first time Trixie has cuddled _her_ in a while, and fuck, it feels so good. Katya would never complain about taking care of Trixie, and she would never stop, but being taken care of after so long is nice. Trixie’s breasts are soft against her back, her arms circle Katya’s ribs and tickle her sides, making her squirm. The rest of the beach seems to quiet around them so all Katya hears is the rhythm of the waves and Trixie’s breath in her ear.

“Hannah Montana lived in Malibu,” Trixie says, “right on a beach just like this.”

Katya nods absently. “I’m a little too old for _Hannah Montana_.”

“Gross.”

It’s silent for a moment. Katya tilts her head up, a bit awkwardly, to see the way Trixie smiles. She’s looking around, watching birds flock to someone’s leftover sandwich, and then her gaze catches Katya’s and she looks down. Katya kisses the warm skin just below Trixie’s jaw and she can feel against her lips the contented noise Trixie makes in the back of her throat.

“I don’t mean to ruin the moment,” Katya says quietly, “but can I ask a question?”

Trixie looks at the beach to hide her eyes, but Katya sees how she worries her lip. “Sure.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”

Katya watches Trixie close her eyes and tilt her head down. She doesn’t want to upset Trixie, but she doesn’t regret asking. She believes that Trixie loves her and trusts her, but if there’s something that really kept her from telling Katya, she needs to make sure she can do better. Katya wants this to work, and she’ll do anything to ensure that it does.

“At first it was because you were my boss.” Trixie’s eyes are open now, but she doesn’t look at Katya. Katya squeezes her arm. “I didn’t think that you and Bianca would hire a pregnant twenty-year-old, and you know I was barely getting by. I needed the job.” Trixie looks down at her, and one of her hands comes up to stroke over Katya’s forehead, bangs flicking over her fingers. “I won’t lie and say that it took long for me to realize we were going to be more than just boss and employee. You were all over me from the moment we met.”

Katya nods, and then she realizes what Trixie’s said. “Hey! That’s not— you were—“

“I’m kidding,” Trixie says with a laugh. She pokes Katya’s stomach and gets her to giggle. “It was mutual. I cared about you so fucking much— I’d already lost my family because of it and I couldn’t lose you, too. I didn’t think it was fair to be with you if I couldn’t tell you that I was pregnant, and I didn’t think you’d want to be with me because I was. That’s why I didn’t tell you and why I waited so long to act on my feelings.”

Katya looks away from Trixie, out towards the water. Her toes dig into the sand so a full layer covers the tops of her feet. She thinks that it actually sounds pretty reasonable. Katya’d like to think that, if their roles were reversed, she would have told Trixie — but that’s not true at all. Any normal person dealing with that kind of thing, and that kind of fallout, wouldn’t be so forthcoming.

Still, Katya needs Trixie to know it would have been okay. Maybe it’s some sort of guilt for not knowing, or for not making Trixie believe that nothing could ever make Katya love her less.

“I would have stayed with you,” Katya says after a little.

“What?”

Katya tilts her head back onto Trixie’s shoulder so she can look at her. “If you had told me, I would have loved you the same. I’d have helped you with your appointments and your clothes, I would have made you food that you craved, no matter how weird. I would have been there when you delivered and for every moment after, as long as you’d have me. I would have stayed.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Trixie’s throat bobs thickly, her only tell that she’s tearing up. One hand runs gently over Katya’s shoulder and collar bone, to her chin, the other clinging tightly to Katya’s waist as though she might lose her in an instant.

“Because this big, scary thing that you were afraid to tell me wouldn’t have scared me away.” Katya presses a kiss to the underside of Trixie’s jaw. “So that you know nothing as big as this will ever scare me away.”

Trixie kisses Katya, likely to hide her tears, but one slips from her eye and onto Katya’s cheek. “Who let you be so fucking perfect?”

The sun beats down on them and gently tans their skin, the gold in their hair shines brighter. Trixie holds Katya tight and rocks her to the rhythm of the waves. Someone’s radio plays nearby, loud enough that Trixie and Katya can hear the words. Trixie hums along gently, singing, too. Katya closes her eyes. It lulls her to sleep.

* * *

The dressing room is always hot after a show — so hot that Trixie practically sweats her makeup off before she can take a makeup wipe to it. She peels her costume off and presses a hand to Katya’s shoulder while she drops it down her legs and steps out of it. Kim practically rips her own pantyhose off.

“These are disgusting.” She rolls them into a ball and stuffs them in her bag. “It’s so fucking hot.”

Trixie fans herself violently, but it doesn’t help. “Ben, can you open the door? We need air.”

Katya presses a cold water bottle against the back of Trixie’s neck. Trixie practically sighs and leans back into it. The open door starts to filter the air slowly, but it’s still hot as all fuck. Trixie just tries to finish getting changed quickly so she doesn’t have to be in there much longer. Her body aches, she can tell there’s blood between her thighs, and she just feels icky.

“I need a shower as soon as we get home,” Trixie says as she pulls her joggers on over sticky legs. When she looks at Katya, she sees her huge smile — and she thinks about what she said. Katya’s apartment is becoming _their_ home faster than either of them could imagine.

Katya kisses Trixie’s cheek. “Do you need help with anything?”

“Wanna do the left half of my face while I do the right?”

Katya nods and takes a makeup wipe from the package. Trixie pulls her shirt over her head and takes her own wipe, and they get to work on Trixie’s face. Thick layers of full-coverage foundation, concealer, shadows, powders, and blush come off of her skin and appear on the wipes. Trixie’s pores feel like they’re gasping for air. Four nights straight of performing is already taking a toll, and she has months to go — but she’d never trade this for anything. This is her dream, this grueling glory of singing and dancing with her best friends, stepping off of the stage lights to the love of her life, and sleeping well through the night.

Trixie feels her strength returning every day. She thinks about what it would have felt like to be doing this while pregnant, and she’s sure she would have survived it. A part of her wishes she could know for sure. When she’s in the apartment, she’s sometimes tempted to tear open all the kitchen drawers and find her ultrasound, look at that last photo of her child. It doesn’t take long for her to talk herself out of it and find Katya or call Kim and Adore. Trixie even has quiet moments with Bianca before the show, and they talk about it, a little at a time. Bianca looks at her like Trixie thinks a mother should.

Outside of the dressing room, a raucous carries through the hall. Trixie can’t make out words, but there’s a voice — a distinct one with a deep southern drawl that Trixie thinks is familiar. She’s finished changing, so she gathers her purse while Katya makes sure she has everything. The others are beginning to finish, too, and Trixie leads a clump of them outside while everyone trickles into the hallway.

“I said— Shangela, don’t act like you’re brand-new. You’re gonna go up there, you’re gonna smile, and it’s enough with the drama, conflama, and confusion.” That voice, the one that Trixie heard down the hallway, finally has a face. Trixie can only describe her as _big_ — big hair, big mouth, big heels. Bianca is on one side of her, a shorter, rounder woman on the other.

“Girl, I don’t know how she puts up with you,” the other woman says with a southern accent just as thick. Bianca laughs.

They’ve approached the dressing room and the tallest woman finally notices the group of them. Her eyes widen as she looks at them, and then Kennedy pushes out of the dressing room, his arms spread already.

“I thought I saw your big-ass hair in the audience,” Kennedy says, pulling her into a hug. “Thank you for coming.”

Trixie’s brow furrows, and she turns to Katya. “Who—”

“Baby, I am Alyssa Edwards.” Trixie looks back at her, and she has now parted from Kennedy and is staring at Trixie with her big eyes. “And _you_ are drop dead gorgeous.”

“Thank you.” Trixie tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The sequins on Alyssa’s black dress flash in the harsh hallway light, and Trixie has to squint to see her properly.

Alyssa nods, her stare intense. “What’s your name?”

“Trixie Mattel.”

“That’s cute, I like it. Bianca says you’re her new little star,” Alyssa says. For some reason, Trixie waits on bated breath for Alyssa’s words. It’s like she needs validation from this lady. “I have seen a lot of shows and a lot of young performers, and I think you might be one of the best ever.”

Trixie shakes her head. “I appreciate it, but that can’t be true.”

“Trust the duchess.” That’s all Alyssa says, and her hand is outstretched, long acrylics practically brushing Trixie’s chest. Trixie feels Katya step closer to her and snake a hand around her waist.

“She’s something special, isn’t she?” Katya asks, kissing Trixie’s temple.

Alyssa raises a manicured eyebrow. “I see you, Miss Katya. Yes, your girl is amazing.” Alyssa turns to Kennedy, who is standing with the shorter woman at her side. “And you, Kennedy Davenport, never fail to impress me.”

Alyssa and Kennedy begin talking, and it’s way too much Texas for Trixie. Katya pushes closer to the other woman, bringing Trixie with her. “Aren’t you going to say hi to me, Ginge?”

“Bitch, I was making my way there,” she says. She sticks her hand out for Trixie to shake. “I’m Ginger Minj, I’m friends with these idiots—” She points to Alyssa, Kennedy, and Bianca. “—and this weirdo.” Ginger pats Katya’s shoulder.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Trixie smiles at her. Ginger seems very different from Alyssa, more like Bianca and Kennedy — calm, rather than a literal animated character.

“How did you get mixed up with all of these people?” Ginger asks, pointing around and smiling fondly at Alyssa, Kennedy, Bianca, and the others.

Trixie bites the inside of her cheek. “I just sort of found my way here, I guess.”

“Like everyone else.” Ginger takes Trixie’s hand and squeezes it. “Welcome to the family, kid.”

Trixie leans further into Katya, her head falling on her shoulder. _Family._ It never gets old, it seems. Katya and Ginger catch up, and Trixie is content to just listen to them, to Alyssa’s weird phrases and Bianca’s laugh. She closes her eyes for a moment. Katya’s words vibrate through her body as it holds her up. Trixie is exhausted, and she’s being lulled into a light sleep by the warmth and the voices melting together into a soothing hum.

Then, one voice cuts through them all.

“Alyssa Edwards.”

Trixie’s friends quiet. Alyssa is facing Trixie, away from the woman who has just rounded the corner into the hallway, and now she turns around.

Alyssa regards the woman in her tight black dress and out-of-place sunhat. “Coco Montrese.”

Trixie hears the tension in her voice, and it seems to permeate the air. Kennedy clutches Bianca’s arm and whispers, “Girl.” No one moves for a few beats, then Coco breaks into a smile and approaches Alyssa.

“Look how orange you fucking look,” Coco says.

Alyssa reaches her arms out for a hug. “I’m not joking, bitch!” The two embrace and laugh, and Ginger rolls her eyes and joins the hug.

Trixie’s brow furrows, and she looks at Katya. “What the fuck?”

Katya shrugs. “It’s some old pageant thing, I don’t know.”

Trixie and Katya just sort of step back and watch — it seems like watching Alyssa is always entertaining, and it’s not very different with Ginger, Bianca, and now this Coco lady. Kennedy joins them, and they all talk and cackle the way old friends do.

“What are you doing here, Alyssa?” Coco asks, still arm-in-arm with her.

“I was visiting Shangie and I called Bianca to see her show.” Alyssa pats Bianca’s shoulder. “Did you come over from Vegas?”

Coco nods. “I had a few nights off.”

There’s a mirror in the hallway for the cast to check their hair and makeup without having to go all the way to the dressing room. Alyssa sees this and she’s suddenly very intent on staring at herself.

“Girl, look at us,” Alyssa says, gravitating towards the mirror like it’s a magnet.

Kennedy sighs. “We’ve lost her.”

“This is a really good picture, okay.” Alyssa isn’t talking to any of them, really, because she’s too focused on playing with her hair.

“Someone call Jasmine,” Ginger says, “and we’ll be the Old Lady Brigade.”

“Uh-uh, don’t call her. There’s already too much personality here.” Bianca gives Alyssa a side-eye. “No tea, no shade—”

“No pink lemonade,” Kennedy finishes, chuckling more than Trixie’s ever heard before. “I’m Jasmine Masters, and I got something to say.” Kennedy changed his voice for that, imitating someone Trixie doesn’t know. The older women and Kennedy burst into laughter.

Trixie’s legs are suddenly aching from her performance and she doesn’t really want to be upright anymore, so she nudges Katya. They meet eyes, and Katya seems to understand. Her hand on the small of Trixie’s back, Katya starts walking past the group and towards the exit, where Trixie’s truck is parked.

“It was nice to meet you all,” Trixie says, and they all turn to her.

Alyssa waves. “You too, Miss Thing. Bye-bye, Katya.”

“Congratulations on the performance,” Coco calls to Trixie.

“Goodnight, see you tomorrow, Bianca.” Katya walks backwards for a moment and then Trixie tugs her forward and out the door.

Trixie doesn’t say anything until she’s settled behind the wheel, Katya in the passenger seat. She looks her dead in the eyes, trying to contain her laugh. “What the hell was that?”

* * *

Ever since Trixie watched _Heartstrings_ to make herself feel better after the miscarriage, Katya has asked about it. It seems she’s created some sort of Dolly fan in Katya, and she’s not mad at it at all. Trixie and Katya share a love of theater and performing, sure, but Dolly is truly the key to the deepest recesses of Trixie’s heart. Katya is on her way to unlocking that last door.

The next episode they have to watch is “Cracker Jack”, the story of a group of friends and their loving dog, as well as the trials of growing older and growing apart. Trixie takes her guitar out of its case while Katya prepares the television and settles on the sofa with a bowl of pretzels. Truthfully, Trixie doesn’t know the song on the guitar, so she sets it to the side for the next episode. She leans on Katya instead of playing. They hold each other up, almost — Trixie still needs to be cared for by someone other than herself, and Katya is honestly getting wrecked by these emotional episodes. By the end of this one, Katya is literally crying.

“Aren’t any of these going to be happy?” Katya whines, trying to wipe her tears discreetly.

Trixie smiles. “Just wait for ‘Sugar Hill.’”

Katya sends her a playful glare and presses play for the next episode.

The title screen comes up, and Trixie’s mouth parts. “Oh, fuck.”

She forgot about this episode.

“What?” Katya asks, her attention barely leaving the screen once Dolly shows up.

“ _You see, back in the late 60’s, I wrote a song called ‘Down From Dover.’ Now, it’s about a young girl who gets pregnant out of wedlock and has to deal with the struggles of the time, as she hopes her fella will return to her_ ,” Dolly explains.

Katya purses her lips. “Oh.” She pauses the show, but Trixie grabs her shoulder to stop her.

“It’s…” She takes a deep breath. “It’s a good episode, and a really good song.”

Katya stares at her for a moment, checking to make sure she’s okay. It’s only been five days since the miscarriage. Trixie thinks Katya’s going to decide that this isn’t healthy for Trixie and turn it off, but Trixie feels like she needs this. It’s going to hurt — fuck, it’s going to be like watching herself live out this Dolly song. But she’s been feeling stronger each time the sun rises, and maybe this will giver her some strength, too.

Trixie picks up her guitar again. Katya sits back and puts the show on, still on edge and ready to turn it off if she needs to.

“ _Now, the message here_ ,” Dolly says, “ _is that hope and love are the greatest forces there are. And if you have hope, you can survive prejudice, you can survive separation, you can even survive unspeakable loss_.”

Trixie’s eyes are wide and glued to the screen, and she nods like Dolly is speaking right to her. Then, the show starts. Beside her, Katya smiles at the romance between Dee Coburn and Lincoln Dollarhyde. She even gasps when Lincoln asks Dee to marry him right before he goes to Vietnam, and then gasps again when Dee’s father tricks her and berates her for trying to marry a Black man. It’s sort of heartbreaking to watch, in its own way, because Trixie knows what happens. Dee and Lincoln seal their own secret engagement with a kiss and sex, then Lincoln ships off to Vietnam and Dee finds out she’s pregnant.

Trixie starts having flashbacks, so she plucks the strings of her guitar.

When Dee’s father tells her she’s going to a home for pregnant girls and is going to give the baby up, Katya pauses the episode and just looks at Trixie, eyes wide. Her mouth moves without words.

“What— what kind of—” She points at the screen. “What the fuck?”

Trixie just shrugs; it’s very much like her own reality. “Welcome to the backwoods.”

Katya lets out a frustrated groan and presses play. It’s kind of adorable to watch her get this worked up about a television show, but it means more, because this kind of is Trixie’s life.

The beginning of “Down From Dover” starts, and Trixie sings and plays. Katya watches her, smiling, before turning back to the television.

Dee is at the home for unwed mothers when Katya turns to her and whispers, “This is freaky as all fuck.” Trixie just nods. Katya’s silent through the episode until the midwife rescues Dee and another girl from the home. “Is this _But I’m a Cheerleader_?”

Trixie shrugs. “What’s that?”

“Hold the fuck up,” Katya _literally_ gasps, and she pauses the television. “You’ve never seen _But I’m a Cheerleader_?”

“Is it a gay thing?”

“Yes.”

“Babe, I’ve been gay for, what—” Trixie pretends to check a watch. “—five whole minutes? We’re still in the ‘I Kissed A Girl,’ ‘Born This Way’ stage.” She’s been in her feelings since the episode started, but Katya’s bright, wheezing laugh makes her smile.

“It’s a lesbian classic, practically a chapter in the sapphic bible. You have to see it,” Katya says.

Trixie nods. “All right, turn the show back on and we’ll watch it after this episode.”

Katya does, and Trixie settles into her side. They get through the part where Dee’s father has a change of heart. When Dee prematurely delivers a still-born baby, Katya squeezes Trixie’s shoulder and presses kisses to Trixie’s head. Trixie doesn’t feel like crying while watching it, and she thinks it’s a win. The episode ends with happiness as Lincoln returns from war to find Dee, his grandmother, and Dee’s father waiting for him. It’s the ending Trixie needed — not the hopeful one in _Waitress_ where Jenna had a daughter, but one in which Dee lost her baby but still lived a happy life. There’s a happy ending for Trixie.

Katya still has tears in her eyes from the heartwarming end, but she bounces up and down on the sofa. Trixie’s body flails because of it. She moves away from Katya, if only to spare herself from more of Katya’s bouncing, and gets the remote.

“I love you, you dork,” Trixie says, “but calm down and put the movie on.” Katya does as asked, and Trixie stretches out on the sofa, just like she did the first time they watched a movie together, her legs on Katya’s lap. The air conditioning in the apartment kicks in and hums behind the sound of the movie.

Just as that episode of _Heartstrings_ called out Trixie on one aspect of her life, _But I’m a Cheerleader_ is practically reading her on another. The homophobic family, the bad sexual encounter with the man (who’s named Jared, ironically), the gay denial — even the ex-gay guy, Mike, looks incredibly familiar. Is this a common lesbian experience, or did Trixie somehow manage to live out the plot of a lesbian cult classic by her damn self?

The movie is fucking hilarious, Trixie will admit, and enjoyable otherwise. It feels good to pretty much laugh at herself, and she tells Katya as much early on. Also— Clea DuVall, enough said. The air conditioning has been running through the whole movie, and Trixie shivers. She has a blanket on, but it feels like the only heat in her body is coming from the places where her feet and legs touch Katya. She tries to stick it out, though, and makes it to the part where Megan and Graham kiss outside the bar. Her teeth are chattering.

“You keep this place so fucking cold,” Trixie bites out.

Katya sends her an apologetic smile. “Go get a sweatshirt from the bedroom.” She pauses the movie while Trixie gets up and pads across the floor.

Trixie knows Katya’s room pretty well, now, but she hasn’t gone through her drawers very often. She hasn’t needed to. So, when she goes hunting for a sweatshirt in Katya’s vanity drawers, she doesn’t know where to start. The top drawer is socks and underwear, mostly, the one to the very right of it is t-shirts — nothing helpful there. She skips a few rows and goes straight to the bottom; the drawer on the left is a bust, containing mostly exercise clothes and joggers. Trixie opens the drawer on the right and stops, choking on air caught in her throat.

The drawer she’s just opened has an assortment of things in it, and Trixie can’t stop staring at them. Her heart pounds, her face burns. There’s a neatly-wrapped rope, two dildos and a strap-on, a blindfold, and what looks like some sort of system of restraints with soft cuffs.

Trixie hasn’t spent a lot of time thinking about sex with women. Sure, there was that one time in high school when she watched a lesbian porn video; she had convinced herself that, because she knew so many boys were into it, she just wanted to understand what the hype was all about. She promptly pretended like she _didn’t_ understand the hype and didn’t address the fact that she masturbated to the memory of it for a week after.

But, _fuck_ , is she thinking about sex with women, now. Trixie’s eyes scan the items, and as she looks at each one she imagines Katya using it on someone — not just someone, but on _her_. Her thighs clench involuntarily as more heat spreads over her body. She’s found Katya attractive, practically since the moment they met, but there were roadblocks that kept her from fully realizing it. Now she has literally stumbled into the first tangible desire she’s had for anyone, and she’s going to do something about it.

When she steps into the living room, Katya is looking at her phone. She absently acknowledges that Trixie is back. “Did you find one?” Trixie doesn’t answer her, stays on her path directly to the sofa. Katya looks up, now. “What are you—”

Trixie’s standing in front of her, and she plants her hands on the back of the sofa, climbs into Katya’s lap, a knee on either side of her legs. Before Katya can say anything else, she kisses her. She’s not shy about it, nibbling on her bottom lip after a moment. Katya’s lips part with a small gasp, and Trixie takes the opportunity to run her tongue over Katya’s lightly. Katya’s hands go to her thighs, gentle at first, and then they squeeze. Trixie smiles into the kiss and then breaks it, opting instead to kiss Katya’s jaw, down her neck.

“Trixie,” Katya says, and Trixie knows it was supposed to be a question, but it comes out more as a moan than anything else. She sucks a hickey on the side of Katya’s neck and takes a moment to marvel at it before adding two more beside it. Katya fully is moaning, now, breathing out whines that tickle Trixie’s ear. “Baby…”

“Hm?” Trixie’s lips never leave Katya’s skin for more than a moment.

Katya’s hands travel up Trixie’s thighs slowly, inching closer to her hips. “Trix… fuck—” Trixie licks and bites the shell of her ear, and Katya squirms. One of her hands leaves Trixie’s hip and fumbles for her cheek, finding it and pushing Trixie away enough so that she can look in her eyes. “Trixie, what are you doing?”

Trixie puts her hand over Katya’s, her fingers threading into the spaces between Katya’s own. “Are you complaining?” She drags Katya’s hand down her neck and chest, shivers when it reaches her breast and Katya’s eyes widen, but she keeps going.

“Well, no, but—”

Trixie places Katya’s hand right at the waistband of her pajama shorts, an eyebrow raised.Katya sucks in a breath. Her pupils are wide as her eyes search Trixie’s, and it’s not just from the darkness. Trixie leans down and kisses Katya again, pushing her hand further beneath the band of her shorts and underwear. She feels Katya’s other hand pressing firmly into her lower back, down onto her ass. Katya’s fingers feel their way over the patch of hair, closer to her clit, and then she brushes it and Trixie’s hips _jerk_. She pulls away from the kiss and rests her forehead on Katya’s, closes her eyes.

It’s over before she realizes it, Katya’s hand retreating, and she whimpers. She needs more of that _now_. Instead of touching her again, Katya takes her hand out of Trixie’s shorts and nudges her back.

“Trixie.” Her voice is gentle but clearer, now.

Trixie opens her eyes. “Why did you stop?”

“You’re still bleeding,” Katya says, holding her hand up as evidence. Even in the dim light from the TV screen Trixie can see it, and she’s mortified. She stumbles off of the sofa so quickly her calves slam into the coffee table.

“I’m sorry, fuck.” Tears are already springing to Trixie’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Katya stands, too, and reaches her clean hand to Trixie’s cheek. “Hey, it’s okay.” Her fingers catch the first tear as it falls. “Trixie, it’s okay, I’m serious.”

“It’s not.”

“I swear, it is.” Katya smiles. “I’ve been sleeping with women for ten years, this isn’t the first time this has happened.” When she sees that Trixie still doesn’t believe her, she kisses her forehead. “Stay here. I’m just gonna go wash my hands, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Of course. Of _fucking_ course this happened, of all the things to happen. Tears are streaming down Trixie’s face silently. She’s very numb; it sort of feels like she’s being punished for _wanting_ , and she’s so Goddamn tired of it.

Katya comes back, but Trixie doesn’t really notice until she feels hands on her hips. Katya sits on the sofa and pulls Trixie down, half on her lap and with Trixie’s head on her shoulder. Trixie doesn’t sob. She just lets herself melt into Katya and doesn’t try to stop her tears. In the meantime, Katya smooths them away with her fingers.

“Talk to me,” Katya whispers into Trixie’s hair.

Trixie sniffles a little. “I’m— I don’t know, embarrassed, or angry, something like that.” She closes her eyes when Katya’s fingers comb over her scalp. “I hate myself.”

“No, nope. No more of that.” Katya kisses her forehead. “First off, there’s no reason to be embarrassed. We knew you were going to be bleeding for at least a week, we both just forgot. Okay? It happens.” Trixie nods but hides her face further in Katya’s neck. “Why are you angry?”

“Because I just…” Trixie sighs and lifts her head so she can look at Katya. Fresh tears roll over her cheeks. “I know it hasn’t been that long,” she says quietly, “and it still hurts. But I’ve been feeling good, and you—” Trixie smiles, cups Katya’s cheek with her hand. “—you make me so happy. I just want to feel normal again.”

Katya kisses Trixie’s palm and smiles. “You will soon, I promise. I love you.”

“I love you.” Trixie flicks at Katya’s bangs — they’re growing out, Katya still hasn’t cut them. “We said the l-word before we had sex, isn’t that fucking stupid.”

“It’s isn’t. I _love_ you,” Katya says. “I don’t need to have sex with you to know that. I would like to, but we don’t need to worry about it right now. We have time.”

Trixie shrugs. “We do.”

They’re quiet for a little, just content with looking at each other. The pit in Trixie’s stomach has eased, and it’s getting better the longer she looks in Katya’s eyes. She likes trailing her fingers over Katya’s cheeks, her jaw, her chin. Katya’s lips part under Trixie’s thumb, she’s staring at Trixie under hooded eyes, and it’s so simple but so _hot_. Her belly tingles. Waiting to have sex until she’s done bleeding would be so much easier if she could just stop thinking about it — but with Katya looking at her like _that_ , like she’d get on her knees for Trixie, it’s practically impossible.

Katya makes a noise in the back of her throat and blinks a few times like she’s trying to focus. “I, uh, saw the drawer that you opened.”

“Oh.”

“I’m guessing that’s what started this.” Katya swallows when Trixie nods. “Are you into that stuff?”

Trixie sighs, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I literally have no idea. I spent so much time trying to not be into women that I never really figured out what I was into… sexually, or whatever.”

Trixie’s never felt younger or more inexperienced than she does now. She’s not a virgin — obviously, even though it was only that one time — but she suddenly feels like one again. Now, she’s lacking that confidence that she had when she went to Jared’s; she figures that’s a good thing, that it means that she actually cares about Katya and this is going to be something she enjoys.

“All right,” Katya says, kissing Trixie’s cheek. “You don’t have to know. We can have fun figuring it out, if you want.”

Trixie nods. “I do, yeah. Please.”

“Okay, baby.” Katya laughs and kisses Trixie. When she pulls away, she checks the time on her phone. “It’s getting late, we should go to sleep soon.”

Trixie kisses Katya again. “Can I have more kisses in bed?”

“Of course.”

Katya wraps her arms around Trixie’s waist and starts to stand. She hooks another arm around Trixie’s knees and makes to carry her, bridal-style. Trixie screeches and flails her arms.

“Katya! You’re going to drop me!”

“I won’t.” Katya settles herself and Trixie in her arms and starts for the bedroom. “I may be small, but I’m strong. I’ve got you.”

They make it to the bedroom in one piece, and Trixie beams at Katya. _I’ve got you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally forgot a) how similar this story is to that episode of Heartstrings and But I'm a Cheerleader and b) that Ru was in But I'm a Cheerleader
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Writing that last scene was as awkward as it probably was to read, but I hope I did a good job.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello I'm way too tired to edit this because I've now caught up to myself in this story and because this chapter is three times longer than I thought it would be

Trixie munches on her mall kiosk soft pretzel while Adore window-shops at pretty much every store. She’s learned that Adore is a tactile shopper — she needs to touch literally every item she’s looking at, whether that means shifting it on a hanger, holding it up to herself, or just catching the bottom of a sleeve with her fingertips — but it’s okay, because Trixie sort of is, too.

Kim, on the other hand, is speedy. She seems to know pretty much everything she’s looking for when she enters a store and manages to find it within seconds of searching. She whirls around stores like a hurricane, stripping dresses and shoes off of racks by the time Trixie and Adore have decided on one blouse.

“I worked retail in high school,” Kim had explained. “They stock every store the same.”

After an hour of casual shopping and two attempts at getting clothes for tomorrow evening’s events — Trixie’s birthday celebration — they had stopped for pretzels and water until Adore ushered them on.

“Can we go to Spencer’s?” Adore asks suddenly, turning her attention from the jewelry in the Swarovski store and back to Trixie and Kim.

“Um.” Kim bites her lip. “You know you’re an adult, right?”

“And what?”

Kim shrugs. “I haven’t been in a Spencer’s since I was a kid. My friends and I used to dare each other to buy vibrators from there.”

“What’s Spencer’s?” Trixie asks. She’s met with two pairs of wide eyes. “I’m from a small town in Wisconsin, guys. Our local McDonald’s was an hour away.”

Adore laughs loudly and receives a number of glares from passersby.

“It’s like a weird gag-gift shop, and also a third-rate sex store.” Kim pokes Adore’s shoulder and narrows her eyes. “I’m honestly not sure if their products are safe.”

Adore lifts her hands in defense. “Hey, I’m not looking for anything made of cheap plastic. They sell lube that I like and, I mean, while we’re here.”

Trixie leans around Kim to look at her. “Why do you need lube?”

“For a strap.”

“Oh.” Trixie looks at her feet.

“Not that I need to know more than I do about you and Bianca,” Kim says, biting back disgust, “but I’m assuming everything’s good with you two?”

Adore smiles mischievously, and Trixie prepares herself for some unnecessarily explicit details about Bianca. “I think I’m gonna move in with her.” Trixie and Kim stop walking simultaneously, and Kim grabs Adore’s shoulder, jerking her back. Their eyes are wide. Adore honestly looks a little scared. “What?”

“You—” Trixie says, “—Adore Delano, are going to _move in_ with Bianca?”

“Yeah.”

Kim shakes her head. “Psychologists could write papers on commitment issues about you.”

“Bitch.” Adore keeps walking, and Trixie and Kim look at each other for a moment before catching up with her. Adore shrugs. “I’m a changed woman. We’ve been fucking for, like, a year now, we’ve been official for over a month, I love her a lot. Besides, we have sex so often that I already sleep at hers most nights.”

“I’m really proud of you,” Kim says, and the sincerity in her voice shows just how much she means it.

Trixie nods. “And I’m happy for you both.”

“Don’t get all sentimental, it’s gross.” Adore’s smile says otherwise. “We’re here.”

There is no good way to describe Spencer’s. It somehow manages to be dimly lit but also strangely neon at the same time. The products in the front of the store, like Kim described, are stupid t-shirts, weird socks, hats, jewelry for body piercings, fake dicks in all manner of product — stuff you’d see at a bachelorette party. Trixie spots some items with rainbow flags and even boob-themed gag gifts, and she’s glad that they’re at least attempting to serve a diverse clientele.

The further they traverse into the store, the stranger and raunchier it gets. Trixie spots explicit drinking games, sex games, sexy outfits. And in the back, past the register and against one of the black-painted walls, is the sex stuff. Assorted vibrators of all shapes, sizes, and purposes line the shelves, and to the side are the smaller things — lube, which Adore goes right to, but also yoni eggs and ben wa balls.

It’s all more interesting than it is embarrassing, which is the opposite of what Trixie assumed a sex store would be like. She scans the items, reading the names and trying to figure out each purpose.

Kim comes up beside her and looks, too. “Hey, this stuff doesn’t seem too bad. They’ve upped their game.”

Adore has secured her lube, a little pink bottle, and Trixie doesn’t even realize that she’s right next to her when she says, “Are you thinking of getting something for you and Katya, Trix?”

Trixie knows her face turns bright red. Even if she were going to get something, she wouldn’t know where to start because she’s still fucking bleeding. It seems the Universe just wants to keep her from having sex. As though pregnancy wasn’t the ultimate punishment from last time.

“We, uh, haven’t…” Trixie clears her throat. “I’m still bleeding from the miscarriage.”

Adore’s eyes widen, and she clutches the lube to her chest. “Oh, fuck. Sorry.”

Trixie shrugs. “It’s okay. It’s more annoying than anything.” She looks back to the wall of toys, and then she has an idea. “Actually, can we go to Victoria’s Secret next?”

“Ooh,” Adore says with a smirk, gaffe forgotten, and she pays quickly before dragging Trixie out of the store and to the nearest VS.

Kim starts scouring the store while Adore finds someone to do a bra fitting for Trixie — which is great, she’s never had one and Lord knows they’re going to be looking at least four letters down the alphabet. Trixie just sort of stands there and waits for Kim to do her thing, happily tries on the white lace and red silk, a bra, a corset, a bodysuit. Only halfway through does Trixie realize that it feels normal.

This is _normal_. No, it’s not the normal that she had before the pregnancy, where normal meant pretending to be something she wasn’t — a lonely normal, a normal in which she felt like she was swimming through life rather than living it. _This_ is the kind of normal that Trixie thinks she should have been having — shopping and gossiping with her friends, going to pseudo sex stores just for fun, trying on sexy lingerie to impress her girlfr—

Katya. Her _girlfriend_.

She’s in the middle of putting on a pastel mint push-up bra and matching hip-hugging, barely there lace panties when she realizes. And it’s maybe the most beautiful, most wonderful, most _liberating_ thought she’s had in her entire life. She has a girlfriend and that’s normal. Trixie fucking loves normal.

Trixie survives Victoria’s Secret having only purchased one thing — she’s still on a budget, Mary — but she’s incredibly happy. She settled on the mint set because she looked fucking fantastic, she will say so herself, and Kim and Adore ensured her that Katya would die over it. They stopped at a few other stores and managed to get clothes for the club, making sure to get layered outfits to look presentable for Katya’s parents that will strip down to gay bar attire.

They’re on their way to some store Kim wants to go to when Trixie has _that_ particular panic attack.

“Katya’s parents aren’t going to hate me, are they?” Trixie asks with trepidation.

Adore slings her arm around Trixie’s neck. “Of course not. You’re great.”

“I’m young.”

“And? You love Katya, Katya loves you, you’re great together,” Kim says. “Age doesn’t matter when there’s mutual respect and care.”

Adore nods. “Yeah. It’s only creepy when someone’s, like, actually young, like living with their parents or something. Well, I guess you were living with your parents a few months ago, and you can’t legally drink until tomorrow. Wow, you’re young, Trix.” By the time she’s done talking, Trixie and Kim are glaring at her. Adore notices and shrinks away. “But Katya wasn’t _looking_ for someone younger! That would be creepy.”

“Katya’s parents are going to love you.” Kim takes over, leaving Adore to fumble with her shopping bags. “I promise. I’ve heard they’re really nice, very eclectic.”

“As eclectic as Katya?” Trixie laughs.

“Well, no,” Kim says. “I don’t think anyone is as eclectic as Katya, even her family.”

They make their way to the far end of the mall slowly, not worried about the time despite the fact that they have a show. Adore gets a text from Bianca urging them to hurry — she’s their ride, since Katya took Trixie’s truck to pick her parents up from the airport. Adore tells Bianca they’ll be ready to leave soon and they continue their stroll down the mall.

They’re approaching the department store at this end of the mall when Kim tugs on Trixie’s arm and they stop. Trixie turns, and they’re in front of the shining display of the MAC store.

“Surprise!” Kim bites her lip to hide her smile. “Happy birthday!”

Trixie’s brow furrows. “What?”

Adore pulls Trixie into the store. “This is our present for you. Plus Katya, she chipped in. You get a shopping spree at MAC, on us.”

Trixie is floored. Her eyes widen at the magical makeup landscape before her, and she can barely contain herself as they enter the store. She’s only bought one item at MAC — a beautiful eyeshadow palette made mostly of pinks. She had saved up her Christmas money from her grandparents two years in a row and bought it when she was sixteen and on a field trip to the mall, and has used it ever since. Now, in front of all the different blush shades, lipstick colors, eyeshadow palettes, contour colors, concealers — she doesn’t know where to start.

Trixie roams the store with hesitance. It’s _so_ expensive. She checks the price of everything that she picks up and almost immediately puts them back on the shelf, to the point that Kim has to intervene and take the items out of Trixie’s hands.

Adore does one better. “Excuse me,” she says to one of the on-hand makeup artists, “it’s my friend’s birthday, she’s a big makeup nerd and we’re trying to get her to go on a shopping spree. Can you help us?”

He laughs and joins Trixie and Kim at the blush. “Sure. My name is Eric, and you are?”

“Trixie,” Kim says, “and I’m Kim, that’s Adore. I’m a makeup artist.”

“All right, Trixie, Kim, and Adore. What are you looking for, today?”

Trixie shrugs. “Um…”

Kim regards her before taking over. “So she’s fine on general complexion, but she could use better lipstick—”

“Hey! Rude.” Trixie glares at Kim, who just rolls her eyes.

“I let her try my Summer of Love palette, and she liked it a lot, maybe that. Her brushes are a little old. Also, her favorite color is pink, as you can tell.” Kim points at Trixie’s romper. “It’s getting a little monochromatic. If we could encourage some more colors that’d be great.”

Eric nods, and he and Kim get to work compiling choices for Trixie from every corner of the store. They show them to Trixie, who studies them with a careful eye. Adore gives input and even picks up a few products for herself.

By the time Trixie has sufficiently fulfilled her shopping spree, as declared by Kim, almost her entire arm is covered in swatches of varying shades and products. She leaves with a new brush set and brush cleaner, eyeshadow, lipsticks, blushes, and a face mask and lip scrub thrown in for free — a birthday special. Trixie is exhausted, the weight of all her shopping bags bearing down on her, and she, Kim, and Adore limp to the exit where Bianca is waiting for them.

The trunk barely closes over their bags. Kim and Trixie hold each other up in the back seat, heads resting together and shoulders touching. Adore chats tiredly with Bianca, who tells them that they have to perk up before the show. Trixie nods, her eyes already closed. The next time she opens them, they’ve stopped and Bianca is staring at her and Kim through the rearview mirror with gentle eyes. Trixie looks out the window and realizes that they’re outside of Katya’s building.

Trixie moves, leaving Kim to fall over on the seat before jerking awake. Adore laughs at them and pokes Trixie’s forehead.

“Thanks, Bianca,” Trixie says sleepily, “I’ll see you guys later.”

Trixie collects her bags from the trunk and waves once more before Bianca pulls off. She types Katya’s door code at the front of the building and trudges into the elevator. It’s moving agonizingly slow today, so she leans on the wall while she waits for it to shudder to a halt. She gets out, walks a few doors down, and then fishes into her pocket for the key — Katya’s spare key? her key? — before slotting it in the keyhole and turning the lock. She stumbles inside and immediately drops the bags on the ground.

“Baby?” Trixie whines when she doesn’t immediately see Katya. It’s not a moment before Katya practically trips out of the bedroom, as she often does in her haste to see Trixie. She smiles, big and bright, and she looks like a burst of energy. Trixie barely holds in a groan.

“Hi. How was it? What did you get? Did Kim tell you about our gift? I hope you liked it, they figured it would be easier for you to pick what you wanted than to try and guess.” Katya bounds towards her, words moving faster than Trixie’s mind can comprehend them. The sun is going down outside of the windows and it shines in Trixie’s eyes, making her squint. She barely notices Katya reaching for her bags and then remembers the Victoria’s Secret surprise.

Trixie swats Katya’s hand away. “Hey! That’s my stuff, don’t touch.”

“Uh, okay?”

Trixie laughs at the little frown on Katya’s face. She steps around the bags and wraps her arms around Katya’s neck, kissing her. “It’s not bad,” she says between kisses. “I just have a surprise for you. I love you very much, thank you for the MAC shopping spree. Now, I need to lay down before the show or Jenna is going to be one bitchy waitress.”

“Come on, then.” Katya nods and turns Trixie around, wraps her arms around Trixie’s waist and pushes her towards the bedroom. Trixie lets her head fall back and giggles gently.

“How are your parents?” Trixie asks.

Katya shrugs. “They’re good, jet-lagged.” When they get to the bed, Katya pulls the corner of the covers back and lets Trixie lay down before she tucks her in and kisses her forehead. “I’m going to take a shower.” She takes her phone out of her pocket and puts it on the nightstand next to Trixie. “You should nap.”

Trixie nods. “I will.”

“I love you, Trix,” Katya says. She strokes her fingers over Trixie’s cheek before going to the bathroom and closing the door.

Trixie stretches out and closes her eyes. The shower turns on and slowly melts into the background. She does sleep, she thinks, or ends up existing in some weird in-between state where she can hear everything and nothing all at once. Trixie isn’t sure what’s happening in her head and what’s happening outside of it, and she doesn’t care — until a phone is ringing and the one she reaches out to in her dream slips between her fingers. The ringing continues.

Her eyes blink open slowly and the ringing barely registers for a moment before she realizes that Katya’s phone is next to her head on the nightstand and it is, in fact, ringing. Trixie nearly knocks it off of the nightstand as she grabs it, but when she sees the screen, she sits up, fully awake.

It’s a New York number.

Trixie thinks it could be important, especially since she remembers Katya getting a call from a New York number a few weeks ago, and — well, that seemed important back then, too. She slides the accept button and puts the phone up to her ear.

“Hello?”

“ _Hey, Katya?_ ” the voice on the other end asks.

Trixie shakes her head as though the person will see her. “No, this is her girlfriend, Trixie. Katya’s in the shower.” She looks over at the door, cracked open just a bit with the sound of the shower flowing through it. “Who is this?”

“ _Oh! I didn’t know Katya had a girlfriend_.” The person laughs. “ _I’m Sasha. Can you let Katya know that she got the job?_ ”

Trixie’s mouth opens, but sound doesn’t come out. A… job. _A job._ In New York?

“ _If you could ask her to call me and confirm, as well, that would be great._ ”

“Yeah,” Trixie whispers.

“ _Thank you! Have a good day._ ” Sasha hangs up before Trixie has the chance to.

She lowers the phone slowly, as controlled as she can. She knows she has mere seconds before she absolutely _loses_ it, and she’s trying to stave that off as long as possible. So, she puts her feet on the ground, stands up, takes a few deep breaths. The shower still runs, water splashing on the tiles and echoing into the bedroom. Trixie walks towards the sound.

Trixie can see Katya’s silhouette moving around through the shower curtain, and her heart suddenly feels like it’s in her throat, choking her, trying so hard to keep the words in her chest.

“Katya.”

Katya drops a bottle on the tile and the thump rings through the room. “What’s up, baby?” Trixie sees Katya bend over to pick it up.

“Who’s Sasha?”

Katya stops moving for a second. Trixie grips the phone harder as the water turns off. Katya’s head appears around the shower curtain, and her eyes are wide. She looks at the phone in Trixie’s hand, which she holds up.

“Sasha called?” Katya asks.

Trixie nods. “Mhm. They said you got _the job_.” Katya squeezes her eyes shut, and it somehow makes Trixie angrier. “What job, Katya?”

“I can— just, give me a second, okay? I’ll explain.” Katya’s eyes are pleading, but Trixie doesn’t even see them anymore. She just sees the phone screen, the number labelled _New York, NY_ staring her in the face. Trixie stays where she is in the bathroom, so Katya does some awkward shifting and twisting to get her towel before wrapping it around herself and stepping out of the shower. “Do you want to go sit—”

“No.”

Katya clears her throat and leans her hip against the bathroom counter, arms crossing. “Bianca’s been telling me to go to New York since before I met you, and she referred me for a directing job a month ago. I interviewed.”

Trixie’s chest tightens. “When?”

“Uh.” Katya’s eyes close again, her face pulled into a wince. “Last Thursday.”

Trixie’s laugh cuts through the bathroom sharper than a knife. “Yep, I remember, now. You came up with some bullshit excuse.” Katya looks at her again, and there are tears in her eyes. A bitter tase fills Trixie’s mouth. “We went to Jacques’ that night. Were you going to tell me then?”

“No,” Katya whispers.

Trixie doesn’t look at her. If she does, she’ll start crying, and she can’t be weak — not now, not when she’s been broken and patched back together, when the one person holding the glue is threatening to tear her apart again.

“When were you going to tell me, Katya?”

Katya shakes her head. “I don’t— nothing was set in stone.”

“You interviewed and got the fucking job, how much more certain could that get?” Trixie tosses the phone on the counter so it clatters towards Katya. If it alleviates her anger, it’s only by a fraction. She turns on her heel and walks into the bedroom. “What was the fucking plan, then? Be with me for a little and then up and leave for New York without warning?”

“I don’t fucking know, Trixie!” Katya has followed her into the bedroom, and she frantically pulls a shirt over her head and slips spandex on under her towel. Katya throws her towel on the bed, and it whips past Trixie.

“I can’t believe—” Trixie shakes her head and bites her lip. She looks at Katya. “You fucking lied to me, and you were going to lie to me more.”

Katya laughs bitterly. “You’re one to talk about _lying._ ”

They both stop as the air is sucked out of the room. It’s completely silent, like even the cars on the street know what’s happened. Katya’s words are a shockwave that threaten to throw Trixie off balance, tumbling into the bed. She does stumble, literally, as she grabs her purse and storms out of the room.

Katya’s fingers reach out for her, Trixie feels them just miss. “Trixie, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Please.” There are tears in her voice. “Let me explain.”

“I think you’ve said it all, actually.” Trixie gathers her car keys, her phone, the MAC shopping bag, still where she left it when she walked in. She opens the door and steps into the hallway.

“Trix—”

The door slams behind Trixie, and the first tear falls from her face. She runs into the elevator. The doors aren’t closing fast enough, so she hits the _close door_ button a million times, each tap harder than the last. By the time she gets out of the building, she’s shaking. Trixie hops in the truck, settles her things, and puts it in gear. If she holds the steering wheel tight enough, she thinks, maybe her hands will stop shaking.

The road is blurry. Her tears are making it hard to see, but she doesn’t fucking care. Let her crash—

Okay, that was dark. _Take a breath, Trixie_. It’s impossible to keep her head clear enough to be rational. She starts a mantra in her mind to keep herself focused, because she’s so tired and so _angry_. She just needs to get to the theater.

The traffic is miraculously thin, so it doesn’t take nearly as long for Trixie to get to the parking lot a block away from the theater. She drops her forehead onto the steering wheel with a thud, takes a long, cooling breath. Without looking up, she reaches beside her for her purse, and her hand hits the MAC bag. At least she thought to bring her new makeup. That’s the saving grace of this situation.

Trixie collects her things and steps out of the truck. It’s scorching outside, and the usually short walk to the theater is agonizing. There’s sweat pooling on her upper lip by the time she yanks the front door of the theater open. Inside, the lights are off and it’s deadly quiet, more than it ever has been since Trixie first walked in there weeks ago. It’s empty, of course. The door shuts behind Trixie, and she wonders if Bianca ever locks it when they leave.

She doesn’t have the energy to go all the way to the dressing room, or even to descend the steep aisle, so she settles in the very last row, right up against the wall. Trixie drops her MAC bag beside her, hears the makeup clink together. She should probably check to make sure the glass concealer bottle hasn’t broken, but she leaves it. Tears are already dripping down her cheeks and into her lap. Her sobs echo through the space. They bounce off of the walls and shoot back into Trixie’s ears, making her feel even more alone and pathetic.

“Why?” Trixie whispers, tilting her head back so it knocks against the wall. It hurts. “Why the fuck does this keep happening to me?” Her voice gets louder as she speaks, loud enough so that Goddamn, motherfucking Universe can hear her. “Can’t I get a break?”

The only response she gets is her words. _Damn it._ The Universe is a coward, and so is Katya.

Trixie is fully aware that her purse has been buzzing non-stop. She dares herself to ignore it, but something inside her needs to twist the knife further. Trixie’s never claimed to be so resolute as to spare herself from pain. She has a million texts from Katya — she discovers this immediately upon resurrecting her phone from her bag — and at least three voicemails. She opens those and listens to the first one.

“ _Trixie_.” Katya’s crying, Trixie can tell in her voice and the way she tries to clear the scratchiness away. “ _I love you. I’m really sorry, I’ll do anything to make it up to you. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid, or I wanted to spare myself from this and I didn’t— I don’t know, I didn’t think. God, just… please. Call me back.”_

The next one is much the same. At least they’re spread out, one every fifteen-ish minutes. The texts have slowed down, too. Seeing them sort of makes her numb in a sickening way. Trixie raises the phone to listen to the third voicemail, but a door clatters open and startles her into dropping her phone.

“Fuck.” Trixie leans over to grab it, has to reach underneath a seat to get it. A piece of gum brushes the back of her hand. When she flips the phone over, the bottom of the screen is cracked. She groans. “Fuck!”

“Who the fuck was that?” It’s Bianca’s voice, Trixie realizes, and she sits up quickly — too quickly, because her head slams on the back of a seat and tears spring to her eyes. Bianca’s a few rows up from the stage, clutching her stack of papers like its a weapon. “Trixie?”

Trixie lets out a little, watery sigh. “Hey, Bianca.”

“You scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here this early?” She gets closer surprisingly quickly for her height, and it gives Trixie no time to collect herself. “Damn, what happened to you?”

“Fuck you.” Trixie laughs a little, but it’s covered by more tears and followed by a sob,

Bianca hurries to Trixie’s side, now. “I’m sorry, that was just a joke.”

“I know.”

“Good.” Bianca wraps an arm around Trixie’s shoulders and tucks her hair behind her ear. “What’s wrong, honey?”

Trixie looks up at her, and more tears fall — the last time they were like this was at the hospital, and it feels like two lifetimes ago.

Trixie clears her throat. “Katya got the job. The New York job.”

“Ah.” Bianca lets out a long, slow breath and leans back in her seat. “How’d she tell you?”

“She didn’t. I answered the call for her.”

Bianca scoffs. “Oh, Christ, Katya.”

Trixie sobs again. She closes her eyes and lets Bianca pull her tighter to her side, lets her comb her fingers through her hair and shush her. The theater feels very small, suddenly, and filled with Bianca’s warmth and the faint smell of her perfume.

“She fucked up,” Bianca says after a few moments.

Trixie nods. “Yeah.”

“Tell me what you’re feeling.” Bianca’s brown eyes are soft, her lips pursed in concentration.

“I’ve been abandoned before,” Trixie says slowly. “At this point, I should just expect it, you know?”

Bianca shakes her head. “I do know, but that’s not the right way to live, kid.”

“Is there a right way to live?”

“Well, no. But there definitely is a wrong way.” Bianca rolls her eyes. “Trust me, I’ve lived it. Shit got very ugly.”

Trixie laughs, and her shoulders begin to relax for the first time. “I feel twisted inside. I’ve been betrayed by someone I love. Every bone in my body is telling me to be angry, but as soon as I think about her or see one of her texts, I want to forgive her.”

“Why not do both?” When Trixie shrugs, Bianca smiles and nudges her shoulder. “You’re allowed to feel your feelings, and you’re allowed to feel more than one feeling at a time. You can forgive her for what she did, but still be angry with her. One doesn’t have to come before the other. Do you feel like she deserves your forgiveness?”

“Of course.”

“Great, then don’t worry about that part anymore. Just worry about being angry, and then let the anger go. Center yourself. And know that she wasn’t going to abandon you. She never will.”

Trixie drops her head onto Bianca’s shoulder. “Thanks, Bianca.”

Bianca’s hand rubs her shoulder and arm rhythmically, and Trixie suddenly remembers how tired she was before all this. The stage in front of her looks daunting. She really, really doesn’t want to perform tonight, not with her anger or with how tired she feels. She swallows thickly.

“I should have told her to tell you when I knew she hadn’t,” Bianca says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Trixie sits back up and turns her body so she’s facing Bianca. She takes one of her hands in her own. “You’re not her mother, you know. It’s not your job to teach her right and wrong.”

Bianca stares at Trixie for a minute before looking down. “Yeah.” She laughs, a little awkwardly. Trixie wonders how long it’s been since someone supported Bianca. “I wasn’t there for all the shit— the drugs, back in Boston. When I met her, she was only sober for a year, but she still drank alcohol and smoked a little weed. Rebecca, the last girl, she didn’t really give a shit if Katya was sober or not. I did.”

Bianca turns away to blink away some tears. “She started smoking more, and she went absolutely psycho. Rebecca didn’t have time to deal with it, so she just left one day. I found Katya half-dead on her apartment floor, high on meth. The doctors were able to wake her up, thank fuck, but she didn’t even know what year it was. To this day, I don’t think she knows she did that. It’s just gone—” Bianca brushes her hand past her forehead. “—a complete blackout.”

Trixie sighs. “Fuck, Bianca, I’m sorry.”

“It’s…” Bianca shrugs. “I’m not telling you this to make you pity her, or to keep you from being angry.”

“No, I know.” Trixie shakes her head and tightens her grip on Bianca’s hand. “Keep going.”

“Well, uh, my friend Ginger— you met her— she was doing some work in Arizona, and I knew of a good rehab facility there, so Katya and I went. I checked her in and stayed with Ginger and we saw her everyday for two months, until she was better,” Bianca says. “Los Angeles was never good for her. She came here too soon after she got sober, it’s too far from her parents. They were her main support system. Them, and me.”

Trixie smiles. “You did a good job. A really, really good job. She’s amazing, Bianca, and so level-headed.”

“When she’s not being a little bitch.” They laugh, and then the heavy feeling settles in Trixie’s stomach again. Katya was a little bitch, and she’s still angry about it. “You’re a good kid, too, Trix.”

A tear falls down Trixie’s cheek. She nudges Bianca with her elbow. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Oh, shut up,” Bianca says, shoving Trixie away and standing up. She picks up her papers to hide her smile as she leaves the row. “I don’t need another orphan. I’m not Miss fucking Hannigan.”

* * *

Trixie messes up.

It’s not noticeable, not to the audience, at least — but it is to anyone who’s seen Trixie perform this show hundreds of times. She stumbles on a line, accidentally skips a word and mispronounces another one, forgets the cue after it for a second. That’s it, one scene, one line.

It makes Katya grimace, because she knows it’s her fault. Bianca knows it is, too, based on the glare she gives her across the booth. She says nothing, however, and turns away from Katya to watch the rest of the show run. Katya can’t seem to pull herself together enough to do the same. Not only does Katya deserve to be punished one hundred times over for lying to Trixie, but she also deserves it for making Trixie mess up.

She imagines the end of the show and how Trixie will cry as soon as she leaves the stage because she’s never messed up before. Katya knows that Trixie loves perfection — she holds herself to a higher standard. Trixie worked her ass off while expecting a fucking _baby_ , for Christ’s sake. She works for the best, and she deserves the best, whether it’s in her personal or her professional life, and Katya’s fucked it all up.

Yeah, she deserves one hundred and one punishments, all in a row.

Since she’s already preparing for hell, Katya decides to make a deal with the Devil. She’ll sell her soul or her firstborn, something like that, just so she can take it all back. Everything that she did, everything that she said—

 _You’re one to talk about lying_.

Katya shuts her eyes tight to fight back the onslaught of disgust that bubbles into her throat. She literally feels lightheaded from the intensity of regret. The whole scene — from Trixie stepping into the bathroom to the twenty messages Katya sent her — it plays in her head like a bad dream. Her fingers twitch, and she has to stop her limbs from moving involuntarily, as though her body is trying to reach into the past, grab itself by the collar of her shirt and make her just _shut up_ before she hurts Trixie.

By the time the show is over, Katya has developed a reasonable plan for inventing time-travel. She’s really relying on this to fix everything, since she has no fucking clue what she’s going to say to Trixie when she sees her in the dressing room. She shuffles through the _I’m sorry_ ’s and the _I was an idiot_ ’s, but she wouldn't insult Trixie to think that _sorry_ will mean anything now that she’s lied.

Katya decides she’ll tell her that. It’s somewhere to start.

The lights go up in the house while the audience parades to the front of the theater and out the doors. Katya doesn't even bother to turn her phone on even though she really should check on her parents. She just shuffles around Bianca and the sound guy, through the booth door and into the catwalk. The path to backstage isn’t long, but by the time she gets to the door she’s practically jogging.

There’s a thud, and Katya realizes that she’s flung the door open so hard that it hit the wall. It bounces back quickly and hits her shoulder, which starts to sting with pain.

“Fuck,” she mutters, but, undeterred, she starts down the hallway and to the dressing room. It’s at the end of the hall, and she can see from here when Asia walks inside. She’s halfway there when—

“Ah, Katya, just who I was looking for.” RuPaul’s voice is smooth like a cat’s purr, normally, but at the moment Katya finds it grating. She debates continuing forward, but Ru steps into her path before she can. “Could I have a moment of your time?”

Katya doesn’t even try to hide her grimace. “Anything for you, Ru.”

“Well, I’ve been having a problem with the lighting. Any time I’m in the diner scenes, the light is just a bit to the left, so I end up backlit on one side.” Ru shakes his head. “I paid a lot of money to keep my face looking this young, and backlighting reverses all of that work, doesn’t it?”

“We can’t have that, can we?” Katya says, sarcasm dripping from her voice. She barely notices Ru’s scowl, since Kennedy and Ben leave the dressing room. Her fingers twitch. She’s running out of time.

“I was also wondering if we could re-block the wedding. Asia keeps stepping in my way and—”

More of the cast trickles out of the dressing room. Katya holds her hand up. “I got it, Ru, I’ll look at it before the show tomorrow.” She steps around him, miraculously avoiding his long limbs.

“Katya!” Ru calls to her fast-fleeting back.

She’s on a mission, and nothing will deter her — especially since Kim and Kameron are leaving the dressing room with Trixie sandwiched between them. Katya walks faster. She dodges props, stray set pieces that won’t fit in the wings. She feels like she’s on a fucking steeple chase, and with the way she’s moving, she wonders if she should have done track in high school.

Katya’s a few feet away when she calls out. “Trixie!” She doesn’t get any response. “Trixie, wait!”

Kim and Kam don’t even look at her, they just keep tugging Trixie with them. Trixie, though, she turns — her head tilts a half-inch, then a little more, so the corner of her eye spots Katya. She regards her for a moment, and her face doesn’t even twitch. She looks so _unaffected_. Then, she turns back to Kim and laughs at some stupid joke Kam has made. Katya’s stomach drops, but she keeps walking, getting a little bit closer with each step. Nothing will deter her—

Until two hands wrap around her bicep and tug her so hard she almost falls backwards. She looks to the source and finds Bianca, eyes wide and so serious Katya suddenly wants to cry. Even more guilt bubbles in her stomach and forces her to look away. Trixie is going out the door, her form retreating into the night. Katya pulls against Bianca’s grip.

“Let go of me,” she mumbles, thrusting her shoulder forward, but Bianca puts all of her bodyweight — her tiny bodyweight — into keeping Katya back.

“Stop it, Katya,” Bianca says with another jerk of Katya’s body.

“I just need to talk to—”

Bianca yanks her around completely. “Leave her be.” Katya tries to avoid Bianca’s eyes, but Bianca catches her gaze before she tries to move again. “You fucked up. You hurt her. Now, let her do what she needs to do to feel better. Don’t make more of an ass of yourself than you already have.”

There’s a tear running down Katya’s cheek, and she wipes it away harshly with the back of her hand, her cheek bone stinging with how hard she hit it. She opens her mouth to say something, to scream or sob or tell Bianca how much she’s hurting without Trixie by her side. Then, she notices RuPaul staring at her, as well as Asia and some of the crew. She looks down at herself — her heaving chest, her legs ready to bolt — and the person she sees isn’t who she thought she was anymore.

“I don’t…” Katya takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what to do.”

Bianca shrugs. “Well, we gotta pick up the cake, so.” She squeezes Katya’s arm and gives her a half-smile. “Let’s go to Gelson’s.”

Twenty minutes later, Katya is wandering through the candy aisle while Bianca waits at the bakery a few feet away. The shelves of sweets are bright and multicolored, a stark contrast to the white lights and sharp corners of aisle end-stands. Katya doesn’t really like the candy, but something about the texture of the gummy sharks makes her want to fill a little plastic bag just to squish them.

Rubber-soled shoes squeak harshly in time to the tune that their owner whistles. It’s the song from _American Horror Story_ that Tate whistles before he shoots up the school. Katya drops the lid on the candy she was looking at and scurries back to Bianca like a little kid. The grocery store is eery this late at night.

“How long is this going to take?” Katya asks, pulling her phone out of her pocket. It’s almost ten-thirty, and she has no notifications.

“Why, do you have somewhere to be?” Bianca snatches Katya’s phone out of her hands. “Give it a rest, Katya. Please.”

Katya covers her face with her hands, presses them into her eyes until she feels a pain at the base of her skull. “I can’t.”

“You got her a gift, right?”

“Of course I did,” Katya says. She takes her hands from her eyes and looks behind the bakery counter. The old woman working there has just found their cake and is boxing it up. “It’s not like she’ll want anything from me now, anyway.”

“Oh, Jesus fuck, Kats.” Bianca ignores the glare that the woman gives her and reaches over the counter to take the cake. “People make mistakes, they fuck up. Couples fight, they take a little space, and then they make up. Here, check this for me.” Bianca holds the cake to Katya and opens the lid.

“I know that, but it’s—” Katya peers down. There’s the bright pink cake with _Happy Birthday, Trixie!_ scrawled in white frosting. It’s very cute, Katya thinks, before her stomach churns with guilt again. She nods, and Bianca closes the box. “It’s different.”

Bianca sets the cake in their shopping cart and pushes away from the Bakery. “Why?”

“Well…” Katya trails beside her, a hand on the cart. The lane isn’t wide enough for them, and she nearly upturns an artful pyramid of soup cans. “It’s different because I can’t stop thinking about it and obsessing over how to make it right. It means more.”

Bianca stops in the birthday aisle and starts tossing items in the cart. Katya can’t even focus on any of them. “You’re an addict, of course you’re obsessing over it. You replaced one addiction with another addiction.”

“I’m not addicted to Trixie.”

“But you are addicted to your own pain and your perfection as it relates to Trixie,” Bianca says. She’s gathered all the party essentials, so she starts walking down the aisle again. They’re nearing the freezer section. “And you’re a little bit addicted to Trixie.”

Katya wraps her arms around herself to stave off the grocery store chill. “That’s… a good point.”

“I know. You need to relax and trust that Trixie doesn’t expect you to be perfect, that her feelings for you allow her to forgive you, and that you are not a bad person.” Bianca stops in the middle of the store and looks around.

Katya looks, too, and finds no one. She laughs a little louder than she would if it were a normal time of day. “Wow, sounds easy. That all?”

“Asshole.” Bianca shoves her shoulder. “You also need to get ice cream.”

It’s well after eleven when Bianca drops Katya off at her apartment. She looks up at the building from the sidewalk and finds her windows — the lights are off, no sign of Trixie. Still, as she goes inside and takes the elevator, she hopes that maybe Trixie’s home and has just gone to bed early.

The elevator crawls tonight. The cake is heavy in her right hand, made worse by the bags of party decorations and other desserts that hang off of that arm, too. Katya is so anxious that she taps the fingers of her left hand to the beat of the mechanics whirring and clacking outside the metal box. Then she realizes that she can’t feel her fingers anymore, so she leans on against the railing and tries to breathe hard enough to send her blood to her extremities. It doesn’t seem to be working by the time she gets to her floor.

Katya unlocks the door and tumbles through into her living room, fumbles for a light switch. The apartment is silent and without sign of Trixie. She flips the light off, uses the moonlight to toss the cake in the fridge, the ice cream in the freezer, and the decorations in a drawer, then tumbles to her room. She only stubs her toe twice.

The apartment is so silent without Trixie. Katya misses the way she taps on her phone until Katya settles into bed, then kisses her and tucks her toes beneath Katya’s calves for warmth. She breathes heavy in her sleep, sometimes snores a tiny bit; truth be told, it normally keeps Katya awake longer than she’d like, but tonight she can’t sleep without it. She’s hyper-aware of the cars on the street, the couple below her that watches movies too late at night, the drip of the drains outside her window. Her sheets are too stiff. She feels like a fucking disaster and a half.

Katya’s heart jumps when the front door opens, and for a moment, the image of her inevitable murder flashes before her eyes. Then, she hears a long sigh and a purse dropping on the ground, and her heart leaps again — Trixie’s home. Katya charts her movements with the memory of her apartment’s floor plan. Trixie stops in the kitchen for a glass of water, as she usually does before sleep. She toes her shoes off outside the door, which always causes Katya to trip the next morning, and then nudges into the room.

Trixie deposits the glass gently on her own nightstand before pulling clothes out of her bag at the foot of the bed and taking them into the bathroom. Katya’s eyes stay closed even though she wants to open them, hop out of bed, and talk to Trixie right then. It’s too late, though, and she knows it’ll make things worse.

The light from the bathroom seeps under the door, but flicks off after a few minutes. Trixie shuts the door behind her when she leaves. The floorboards creak once, twice, and then the bed dips behind Katya. Trixie takes another drink of water before settling in. Her feet touch Katya’s calves then dart away, almost as though they did it without consulting Trixie.

Trixie lets out a breath.

Katya’s eyes open. She can feel her heart in her throat, in her jaw, and then she’s speaking.

“I wasn’t going to take the job.” Her voice is soft, but she can tell that she’s startled Trixie by her small gasp. “I was going to tell Sasha I wasn’t interested anymore, so there was no point in telling you. I don’t want the job, and I don’t want to leave you.”

With that, half the weight on her chest releases. She’s so exhausted from having carried it around all night that when she closes her eyes, she falls right to sleep.


End file.
